Ill Met by Moonlight
by Ellynne
Summary: Baelfire arrives in our world - and a slightly odd stranger is there to meet him. They're trying to get to Storybrooke when everything goes wrong. Goblins, wraiths, witches, accountants, and irritating relatives all get in the way.
1. Chapter 1

_I own nothing of Once Upon a Time._

Thomas Rosa was camped out in the woods in Maine that night because of a feeling.

He got them, sometimes. Not really useful ones. They were mostly things that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck and seemed to nudge him into doing something or not doing something, choosing one road over another one, stuff like that.

There is, he knows, no magic in this world, not really.

But, he's in this world and he's a part of it, isn't he? So, don't take rules too literally.

So, he was surprised – but not too surprised – when the strange, horrible light rose up out of the ground.

He pulled out his dagger, wishing he'd had the sense not to have his sword packed with the rest of his gear.

He also found himself reliving a lot of memories of things that came close to killing him in the past – and things he'd learned about but hadn't met yet that might kill him – wondering if this is another of them.

Something spat of the eerie light just before it vanished.

A boy, thirteen or so, he guessed.

Tom had seen enough weird things that he took this in pretty quickly. He also took in the other things. The boy's clothes were not anything anyone local would wear (ooh, big surprise, there). Maybe medieval, maybe just _different_.

They were also hand woven yet well made.

Tom knew what that usually meant. If you're from a place where cloth is still woven by hand, the better made it is, the more wealth – and, probably, importance – your family has.

Meanwhile, the kid was frightened and upset, cursing an absent "Papa," although Tom was having a little trouble sorting out "Papa's" sin, other than not being there.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, hi."

The boy froze and whirled.

Hmm, good defensive posture but not reaching for any weapons. Probably had been in his share of scraps and maybe had some actual training, but not a soldier or anything.

Good thing. Tom knew something about being sent off to fight when you're just a kid, and it wasn't something he wished on anyone.

"I'm Tom, Tom Rosa. Who are you?"

"Bae," the boy said. "Baelfire."

"Baelfire. Hi, nice to meet you. Uh, I suppose you know you just appeared out of a big, creepy, glowy thing that appeared out of nowhere in the forest?"

Baelfire blinked, obviously a little thrown by Tom's reaction to "big, creepy, glowy things." "Uh, yes," he said. "I guess . . . . You saw it?"

Tom nodded. "Yep. Pretty spectacular. You do that?"

"No – yes – sort of. I had a magic – a, uh, a piece of magic. It opened the gate."

"Oh, one of those. That would explain it. So, you running away from home or you looking for a way back?"

Baelfire stared at him. "I didn't – I was told – there's not supposed to be any magic in this world."

"Oh, there isn't, not really. We get the occasional traveler coming through, not that most people believe it. My uncle was one of them, so I've seen stuff." And that had to be the most abridged, grossly misleading summary he'd ever given of anything this side of an essay test for a book he hadn't read. "So, you were looking for a world without magic? You have magic problems, I take it?"

"Not me," the boy said. "My papa." His face crumpled, but the boy didn't cry. "He wouldn't come."

"Uh, just curious, but did that gateway look as psycho on your side of the universe as it did on mine? Cause, I got to tell you, I'd have trouble jumping into that head first myself. Or feet first. Or any other way."

"He _promised._"

"Yeah. Well." Tom tried to think of something else to say. Nothing came to mind. Maybe if he knew more. "So, what's up with your dad and magic?"

A confused, tangled story spilled out; but Tom eventually got the gist of it.

Magic powers passed on by an evil curse. Papa needed the powers to save his son. Papa _had_ saved his son. Papa had also saved a bunch of other kids, too (good for Papa, Tom thought).

But, it had also changed Papa. Papa was now not only one of the most powerful beings in the world back home, he was at least as scary as Uncle Nick – maybe even as scary as Auntie A (the less thought about, the better).

Tom nodded though, as he heard the symptoms. It was a little like the curse of the Gloaming, he thought, so maybe Aunt Stella could help? Only, not really, he decided. The Gloaming, after all, took away your memories of the past and also sort of separated out your soul. You still _had_ a soul – which was what stopped you from being an undead monster – but it was separate enough that you didn't really _act_ like a person with a soul, pretty shy on the empathy and moral reasoning (they still told stories about what Grandpa had been like before Aunt Stella sorted him out).

But, Papa didn't really seem to have that. Tom listened to Baelfire's description of some of the things his papa had done. The guy could be a perfectly normal person one minute – willing to speak politely and appropriately to a cart driver who had almost caused an accident in the street – then, the polite forbearance vanished the moment he realized Baelfire had been hurt by the cart. Next thing he knew, Mr. Man-with-a-Cart was Mr. Squished-Snail-in-the-Road.

Parents.

And the scary thing was, according to Baelfire, his father had patiently explained afterwards when Baelfire protested, that it was his _job_ to protect his son.

So, something like moral reasoning was still going on, but the guy was having real troubles seeing how to apply it to scale.

Hmm, maybe a _little_ like what happened to Uncle Nick. He wondered . . . . "You wouldn't happen to know what Dark Powers started this curse, would you? I wonder if anybody I know could fix it."

Baelfire's eyes went dark and shuttered. "I don't know anything about how the curse works."

_And you don't have a clue how to play poker, either,_ Tom thought. Oh, well, at least, the kid showed _some_ caution. He'd begun to wonder, what with him talking this freely to the kind of odd stranger Tom had to admit he was when theyd just met in the middle of the forest in the middle of the night.

He had to push a little more – going carefully, now that he'd spooked the kid – to get the other details. He got the kid to tell him what that "piece of magic" was that got him here. It had been a – "Sorry, what did you say?"

"A bean," Baelfire said. "A magic bean."

"Magic bean. Right. I guess I've heard of those. Keep going."

And Papa had freaked at the last minute when the apparent gateway to hell opened up and hadn't gone through before it closed.

Having seen the thing on this end and wondered if he'd be having to stop Lovecraft's Elder Gods from trying to devour Maine (although they'd probably move on once they discovered what the winters were like), Tom felt more than a little sympathy for Papa – especially since Papa had tried to stop Baelfire from going, too.

And, even if the bean (magic beans? _Seriously?_) had worked as advertised, what idiot sent a couple of people with no training, no aid, no money, no backup, no _anything_ into another world where they don't even know the rules? Even a couple hundred years ago, when no one expected you to know word processing and how to drive – not to mention knowing what a car was – it would have been hard getting on in the new world without even an ax to clear trees and help you build a log cabin.

The real question was whether the solution would have worked and stopped Papa's curse – or at least made it dormant. Given the less than stellar planning of the person handing out magic beans, Tom had to wonder.

He remembered that bizarre town he'd been in a few months ago, Storybrooke. They were from a magical realm, too, and hadn't brought much in the way of magically charged batteries to keep their idea of "normal" going. Not that any of them (apart from the mayor, aka "wicked queen") even _knew _who they were or where they really came from, thanks to a curse (and Tom thought his life was complicated) so the magic thing didn't really matter to most of them.

Tom sighed, remembering all the trouble there'd been. His girlfriend, Silver, had passed through Storybrooke. Silver was another one of those transients from world to world. Up until Storybrooke, Tom would have said Silver was lucky. _Her_ magic was elemental in nature. So long as there was starlight, moonlight and/or a few other things in the world, she basically metabolized them into magical energy, the same way most animals ate food and _made_ vitamin C, unlike humans who had to find something that already had it.

But, strangers never came to Storybrooke, not beyond drivers of delivery trucks and a few other folk like that. Wicked Queenie had noticed Silver. Worse, Queenie had realized what Silver was and locked her up in the town's psychiatric hospital, taking bits of her hair and blood and what not as needed to fuel her spells.

Tom had come looking for Silver and nearly gotten killed a couple times himself before accidentally waking up the memories of one of the other people in town, a really scary guy called Mr. Gold. Gold, apparently, had his own plans. The curse on the town would run its course in time and Regina would get hers – but, first, the curse had to be allowed to run that course.

Tom hadn't really followed all that plotting stuff, but Gold had helped him get Silver out and then gotten them to a _sort of_ magic well outside of town. The well could do magic _if_ it had magic, one of those circular reasoning messes. Of course, all it could do was return what was lost. Tom hadn't thought that sounded too useful at the time. But Gold insisted.

Silver had been looking pretty sad about then – sliced and diced was more like it. Usually, Silver kept her not quite humanness hidden under light bits of illusion, but Queenie had figured out days ago Silver had claws instead of nails (Silver admitted Queenie might have clued into this from the time she tried to use them to take Queenie's throat out). Or had had claws. Till they'd been removed.

Her hands had looked mutilated, as had a lot of the rest of her.

But, Silver reached the well. On Gold's advice, she cut off and dropped in some of her remaining hair.

A white mist had billowed out of the well.

When it cleared, Silver was whole again.

And the town was back to normal.

Queenie didn't remember them – and neither did Mr. Gold.

All the same, Tom had an urge to call up Gold and ask his opinion on this one. It seemed like the kind of bizarreness the guy would have a knack for.

Tom pulled out his cell. It would be better to call his sister, Sirena, he thought. She'd probably find some way to tell him this only happened because he was being stupid. But then she'd come and help anyway (even if it did drag her away from accounting and the other Dark Rites of business management for a few hours).

Or maybe he could get a message to Uncle Nick – scary guy but knew plenty about other universes and what to do about them.

Or Aunt Stella, who could patch up mutilated souls.

Or even Auntie A, who was scarier than anything Stephen King ever dreamed up (especially when she decided to be sweet and helpful), but who would be sweet and helpful . . . in a psychotic, where-did-you-put-the-bodies-this-time? sort of way.

Did other people have family reunions like this?

Other than the kid in front of him, Baelfire, and his quasi-demonic dad, that is?

_Oh, face it Tom_, he told himself, _Tolstoy was right_, _all families have problems_.

He hesitated, looking over the numbers in his phone's memory.

Who was he kidding? He'd come here because of a gut feeling. He'd hung around and waited to see what the green cloud threw out with nothing but his dagger (a gift from his Gloaming grandpa and not bad at slaying monsters) – although he had regretted leaving the chainmail and the sword packed up with the other gear on his motorcycle – because his gut told him to.

He hit Gold's number.

"Hey, Gold, I don't know if you remember me. This is Tom Rosa. I came through your town a few months ago.

"Yeah, that's right, Silver's friend. I still owe you big time over that one.

"Yeah, I_ know_ you're the kind of person it's dangerous to say things like that to. But I'm the kind of . . . well, whatever I am who finds it dangerous _not_ to admit when you owe someone.

"Hey, so, how's it going with the curse? You remember me, so I guess it's breaking?

"Oh, yeah? Savior finally turned up? How long it take her to get her act together?

"What? You have got to be kidding me. And I thought my cousin Hank was a lost cause . . . .

"Right, right, about the phone call. Look, I just had the weirdest thing happen . . . . Yeah, I know my definition of weird is a little stretched . . . .

"Well, here I was on a camping trip – yeah, it was one of those feelings again. Hey, what can I say? It works for me – anyhow, this kid turned up. Sounds like he's from another universe. I was wondering if you might know anything about which one or something. Seems like his dad's some dark wizard dude. Thought maybe you might have heard something.

"Oh, wait. I'll ask."

Tom turned to Baelfire, who was looking at him bemusedly. Right, cell phones likely weren't part of the landscape where he came from. Tom wondered if the kid thought he was nuts. Or maybe there were magical versions of things you held up to you ear to chat with where he came from. "Baelfire, what did –"

There was a loud explosion of noise from the other end of the phone. "Hold your horses, Gold. I'm _trying_ to ask – Baelfire, what did you say your dad was called?"

Tom spoke into the phone again. "Rumplestiltskin. Also known as 'the Dark One.' Heh, some people just have to be pretentious, don't they – huh? Oh, about . . . I don't know, two, three hours from your town. I can check on my GPS. Why?

"OK, OK, keep your shirt on. I'll get him over there. But, just keep her creepy majesty away from me this time, all right?" He turned back to the kid. "Hey, Baelfire, good news. Some guy I know thinks he might be able to help you. He's a little weird, but he usually knows what he's talking about. Oh, and let me give you a quick lesson on motorcycles. You're going to have to wear a helmet . . . ."

**Author's note: This is sort of a crossover. Tom and his family exist in some stories I've written bits and pieces of over the years but never really gotten anything finished. When the episode **_**An Apple Red as Blood**_** aired, I outlined the story where Tom's girlfriend, Silver, gets stuck in Storybrooke, but it was a little too dark and grim for me.**

**This story was the result of seeing Desperate Souls again, seeing a bit of the Addams Family and wondering what would happen if Baelfire had wound up in foster care with a family who were odder than his, and reading the Hamish Macbeth mysteries and realizing Tom had a few things in common with Hamish when it comes to a matter of fact way of dealing with odd people.**

**The Gloaming or Curse of the Gloaming is a Tom's story only curse. Any resemblance between it and other curses is purely coincidental.**


	2. Food and Fears

Bae held on, white knuckled, as the _motorcycle_ sped down the road.

Before letting him get on, the strange man, Tom Rosa, had looked over Bae's clothes and told him to get rid of his overtunic. It wasn't the sort of thing that got worn around here and it would have been in the way sitting on the back of the _bike_ (another, shorter name for the _motorcycle_).

In its place, Tom gave him a bright, red piece of clothing he called a _sweatshirt_. It had a large, stylized B on it. Asking about that led to a confusing explanation about something called the _Boston Red Socks_.

It was Tom's and, though he was a tall man – Bae could only hope he might be that tall when he was Tom's age, in ten years or so – it didn't seem to hang as badly as it might have on Bae.

The helmet, at least, made sense.

Eventually, however, Bae stopped expecting instant death as the _bike _sped down the road and even began to enjoy the strange sensation of speeding along like an arrow out of a bow.

But, he still held on tight.

The _motorcycle_ had a light attached to it, as did the other vehicles they passed. It burned bright and steady, more like a small moon than a fire.

But, he'd been told, this world had no magic.

After they had been driving a while, Tom pulled off onto a side road, heading for a strangely lit building – it had white lights, like the _bike,_ but also red and blue ones, some of them twisted in glowing letters that spelled "gas." There were several, large vehicles parked around.

"Trucks," Tom explained as brought the _bike_ to a stop. "We need to get gas – fuel for the bike. And maybe fuel for you. They've got snacks and things inside."

"That's right, Tom," a sarcastic voice drawled from behind them. "Fill up the kid on sugars and fats. That's the way to have an easy trip."

There was a woman standing behind them. Like Tom, she had curly, black hair, dark eyes, and fair skin. They were even about the same age, Bae guessed.

"What are you doing here?" Tom demanded.

"Helping out. Also, providing nutritious food that won't send the kid's system into shock. I'm parked over that way, if you want to load up your bike and introduce your passenger to the concept of _seat belts_."

"You know this lady, sir?" Bae asked.

"Huh? Oh, sorry. Right, introductions. Sis, this is Bae, aka, Baelfire. Bae, this is my evil twin, Sirena Rosa."

"Nice to meet you, Bae," Sirena said. "And, please, call me Siri."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Doesn't your accountants' coven need you or something?"

"Says the man who ditched Harvard law. It's the weekend, and I managed to shift off saving the company from the Eurozone's imminent collapse till Monday, maybe Tuesday if I have to."

"Be still my heart."

Siri looked at Bae. "Hmm, maybe we should snipe at each other in clearer language? I can't help thinking we're confusing the blazes out of our listener."

"Oh. Good point. OK, Bae, this is my _sister_, Siri. We tend to irritate each other, but don't let that bother you. She works as, well, I guess you'd call it a clerk for our dad's company. Originally, our dad wanted me to be lawyer but, for good and sufficient reasons, I chose to pursue a different career path."

"Like finding lost kids in the woods at night," Siri said. "And, as you may have noticed, he's good at it. He's really good at dealing with the unexpected – there, see? I can be nice – I, on the other hand, excel at anything involving planning – like tracking my brother down in the middle of the night and showing up with things he may not have thought about, like decent food supplies. This way to the feast, my hearties!"

With that, she marched off towards one of the large vehicles. Tom shrugged and followed after her, though he did stop when he saw the vehicle she was leading them to.

"What is that? An all terrain Winnebago?"

Siri looked smug. "Essentially. It took a little modification, but it's pretty useful at times like this, wouldn't you say?"

"You are a sick, sick life form."

"Hey, just because _some _of us believe civilization and long distance travel can be combined doesn't make us sick."

"Right, my mistake. More like oxymoronic."

"Says the man with the moron-o-cycle. You _have_ signed your organ donor card, I trust?"

"I wear a helmet. And stuff."

"Yeah, well, just keep dodging the laws of physics," she pulled open the door. "Everybody in and tell me what you think!"

Tom caught her arm. "Just to check, anybody else in there I should prepare sensitive, young tots for? Scales, claws, anything like that?"

"Nope, just me. In!"

The inside was amazing.

Small – it had to be small to fit in a vehicle – and strange (or strange to Bae), but he recognized the signs of wealth and comfort, a lord's manor in miniature.

There was a table with odd shaped, white boxes. Smells rose from them that made Bae's stomach rumble. Siri began opening them and displaying the contents. "Not sure what you're used to, but I went with mostly Scottish type foods –"

Tom interrupted, "_Where_ did you find mostly Scottish type foods?"

"A side effect of having to watch after foreign business interests when they come calling. I've got a database of every food place between here and Boston with a detailed menu search. Anyhow, bannocks, mutton, three kinds of pottage, strawberries, plums, peaches, pears, cherries – I just had to add some pineapple, oranges, bananas, and coconuts, but feel free to ignore them if you want – Oh, I guessed you for a shepherding culture type, so there's sheep milk, goat milk, cow milk, butter, and six types of cheese. There's the seafood, salmon, trout, a seaweed salad. There's a regular salad and pickles. I've also got herbal teas – no caffeine for you, mister – and honey and cream. Oh, and clotted cream and scones. Any of that sound good to you?"

"I – I can't eat all that!"

"You don't have to. Don't worry, it'll keep. I'll explain the wonders of refrigeration to you later. Short version: I have an icebox."

Tom sighed. "It's a family thing," he said. "Siri's worried you might be stressed out with everything that's happened to you. She deals with it by feeding you."

"Basically," Siri agreed. "Look, Tom may not have mentioned it, but we've both done the the getting tossed into another world without warning thing – although we wound up in a world _with_ magic. And a bunch of monsters after us. I know what it feels like. And we spent a lot of days wondering where our next meal was coming from. I know it's only been a few hours since you got here, but I figure you need a meal or three, OK?"

"Eat up," Tom said. "It'll make her happy. Siri, I'll get gas in my bike and load it up. Then, we move out, right?"

"Hmm, OK, but I think we should discuss strategy. Your last visit to Storybrooke was a little wild."

"Heh, right. But, that's still where we're going."

"Yeah, yeah, go get your bike."

Siri brought out plates and bowls. Before his father changed, he and Bae had eaten out of wooden bowls. After, they had had bowls and plates made by the local potter. Bae had never seen anything like these. They were pottery but thin and white. There was a finely painted pattern around the edges of red and gold roses, with the rims decorated with a thin edge of gold. She gave him a knife and spoon made of silver, along with something that looked like a small, silver pitchfork. She produced strange, elegant cups she called _tea cups_ with the same pattern as the plates when he admitted to preferring tea to milk. She pulled out boxes and let him choose.

"You can read," Siri said, when he picked mint. "Is that common where you come from?"

Bae shrugged. "Not really. My papa taught me."

The tea wasn't loose leaves, as Bae was used to. Instead, it was in small bags that could be placed in the hot water. "No reading tea leaves tonight," Siri said.

"Sorry?"

"Oh, don't your people do that? It's a kind of fortune telling, try to guess the future by what kind of clumps the tea leaves make. Not my thing," she added. "I think you need a different mindset for that kind of stuff."

"I-I thought there was no magic in this world."

"Oh, the tea leaf thing doesn't _work._ But, as for magic. It's like saying there's no water in the desert. There isn't. But there is. A little gets in, here and there. Me and Tom, we've travelled, we picked up some things, found out some others.

"So, you want to tell me?" she asked. "Why did you want a world without magic?"

"My – my papa . . . ." and Bae found himself telling her all the things he'd told Tom.

"But, it wouldn't work, would it?" Bae finished bitterly. "Even here. There's still magic. Papa's curse –"

"Depends," Siri said. "I know some creatures whose magic only works at certain times and in certain places. I've seen what happens to some of them when they wind up here too long. Some adapt, some become . . . not magic, just normal. Some die – Oh!" she added quickly. "Your papa wouldn't have been one of those! He was still human, right? I mean, under the curse and everything? I think you're blue lady had it right. He'd have been human here. Maybe an occasional spark would get through, but that's it. Unless he found another source of magic, like that Storybrooke psycho . . . ."

"Please," Bae said. "You and Tom keep mentioning Storybrooke, but I don't understand what it is."

"It's a town, north and east of here. Its people are exiles. They had a wicked queen – maybe you know the type? Her stepdaughter was the heir but the queen wanted to rule in her place. Eventually, after the queen tried to murder her a few times, the princess finally managed to heave her off the throne and into exile. But, the queen wasn't the kind to take that gracefully. She enacted a curse, one to send all the people to a place where she figured she would have the edge, where she could deprive all the people who stood against her of their happy endings.

"I suppose I ought to feel royally insulted that she picked our world.

"Anyhow, they landed here in a small town that's trapped in time. They've been here something like thirty years with no one aging or changing, everyone with whatever memories the queen chose to give them to fit their lives here.

"And any attempt to get the lives back that they had back home tend to self-destruct." She began ticking things off on her fingers, her voice falling into a sing song. "So, the queen's stepdaughter lives a lonely, quiet life, wondering why she never finds love, not knowing that there is a man who was her husband in that other world who lies sick and wounded in a hospital bed, waiting for the sound of her voice to wake him. A princess struggles as a poor servant, heavy with child, the king who once welcomed her as a daughter seeing her now as a foolish mistake his son made who will ruin the prince's life if he lets her through their door - not that he's a prince here . . . . Their great strengths are hidden from them. Fears sprout up where they should be strong. The world dances to the queen's tune, and she makes music from their tears . . . ."

Bae swallowed. And this was where they were taking him. "Gold," Bae said. "The man Tom wants me to see. Who is he? Is he – does he work for this queen?"

"I doubt it. His memories came back while Tom was there. I think he's a wizard. Or something like one. Tom said he's powerful. And frightening. But, Tom says he'd trust him to keep a deal – I don't know if it's his magic or just the way he is, but those are rock solid sacred with him – and he has a certain sense of justice that he doesn't stray _too_ far from – though I get the feeling his idea of justice and most other people's wouldn't exactly match up.

"Tom made a deal with him but he said he thought the real reason Gold helped him was because he was angry when he saw what the queen had done to Silver – a friend of my brother's the queen had captured.

"Although, to be fair, holding Silver prisoner was giving the queen a certain edge, and I doubt Gold cared for that – but Gold could have kept that advantage for himself instead of helping them get out.

"Anyhow, Gold showed them how to . . . _erase _the signs they'd been in Storybrooke. The world there forgot about them. And everything went back to normal.

"Including Gold. He forgot about them, too. And who and what he really was.

"Tom didn't realize it at the time, but he said Gold must have known that would happen. He told Tom they had to fix things, even if it meant 'setting them back.' He told Tom, and I quote, 'It isnt' time yet.'

"And, before you ask, I have no idea what 'It isn't time yet' means. I don't know what it is about wizards, but some of them just _live_ to hand out cryptic riddles.

"But, he remembers things, now, and the curse seems to be breaking. Course, that means Regina – that's the queen – may remember things, too. We're going to be careful driving into town."

Tom came back into the vehicle. "All ready. You guys have enough time to chat?"

"Almost. I just have one question left for Bae." She looked him in the eye. "You want to go to Storybrooke? Or you want to run? Forget about Tom and his gut feelings. I'll help you do either."

Bae looked at Siri, then Tom.

"Do you think this will help me find my father?"

"Yeah," Tom said. "I do."

Siri shrugged. "And beheading will cure a headache. I trust Tom's gut, but it comes up really short in the details department."

"If it will help find him, then I have to go there."

"OK, then," Siri said. "Tom, show him how to use a seatbelt – and set a good example. Let's roll."


	3. You Must not Go in the Woods at Night

The food was good and it was late. Before long, Bae found himself drifting off to sleep.

Then, the explosions hit.

He woke up to noise, chaos, and Tom throwing him out of the vehicle where Siri was alredy standing to catch him as he crashed into her.

Then, Tom leaped over and past both of them, a dagger in one hand and a sword in the other.

Siri was yelling something to him. He caught the word "Woods!"

" . . . hold them off . . . !" he hear Tom say. The next few words were lost. Then, " . . . gloaming!" while Siri grabbed Bae and pulled him into the darkness of the trees beside the road.

Only, it wasn't that dark. The sky was already the gray twilight of predawn, and the trees were further lit up by the fires behind them.

"Typical," Siri said. "Tom and his 'feelings.' It's all 'do this and get trussed up like a lamb for the slaughter. Idiot – Get down!"

She tackled Bae to the ground, landing on top of him. He felt something rush past them, hitting a tree a few feet away. It exploded.

"Up," Siri said, hauling him off the ground. "_Run._"

She pulled him through the twilight, zigzagging as they went, cursing and sounding frustrated.

Then, something dark loomed up before them, black as the river on a night with no moon.

"_Finally,_" Siri said, and pushed him towards it.

Bae had been running through dirt and autumn leaves. Now, he was tumbling into snow. He stumbled and fell, sliding across it.

He pulled himself up, looking around for the next attack.

But, the noise stopped.

There was no more firelight coming from the road.

In fact, there wasn't any road.

There were in a wood – but it was a different wood.

The trees were velvet black. The sky above had gone from morning twilight to midnight blue. A full moon shown overhead.

And the ground was buried deep beneath the snow.

"What – where –"

"Uh, yeah," Siri said. "About that. Uh, congratulations, Baelfire," Siri said. "This is your third world in one night.

"And, before you ask, no, not a record. But really good for your first day of realm jumping, don't you think? She looked around uneasily. "This might have been a big mistake . . . . Look, here's the deal. We've got to get over the river and through the woods to Granpa's house. Or Aunt Stella's. And keep an eye out for, well, anything. Assume they're not friendly. _Really_ not friendly.

"Uh, and, just to say this, if anything winds up grabbing you and dragging you onto a dark alter to sacrifice and claim your immortal soul, I apologize ahead of time . . . .


	4. Rules

"Lose my soul?" Baelfire asked.

Siri looked around. It was quiet so far in the Gloaming. A good sign.

As far as there were good signs, here.

She nodded. "Let's get moving." She pulled out her golden sickle from inside her jacket. It was a small thing, the blade barely bigger than her hand. But it had a sharp edge. "Do you have any weapons?"

Baelfire nodded and pulled out . . . Tom's dagger.

"Oh," Siri said, staring at it. Blast and whither it, Tome wouldn't have had that that with him when he was fighting . . . whatever attacked them. But, odds were Baelfire would need it. "That's . . . good. In this wood, that's a very good thing to have."

"Why? And why is my soul in danger? What about yours?"

"Heh, the things that walk here might kill me. But, that's all they'll do. You're another story. This is the Gloaming, the Wood of the Long Night. The people here, they call themselves Goblins. Do you have Goblins back home?"

"Uh, yeah. I think so. I've never met any."

"Let me guess: small, squat types, none too bright, live in caves? Would that be them?"

"Yeah . . . ."

"It's not these guys. They're tall and slender. With claws, fangs, and pointed ears. They can be lightning fast. Each . . . clan – tribe – company, they use all those names – has a lodge somewhere, a shelter or hall. Though they like to be able to see the stars and the moon when they rest. Roofing leaves something to be desired. They have human intelligence and their leaders are often wicked smart. And their humor is razor sharp." Literally, sometimes. "Just to warn you.

"But, they can't breed, if you know what I mean. Their unions are, uhm, sterile. Do they tell stories about changelings where you come from?" He ought to, given what Tom had told her about him.

But Baelfire just looked baffled. "I – I don't think so. I don't know what that means."

"Really? That's a surprise. If you know Rumplestiltskin . . . . Well, never mind. My Uncle Lucian could tell you all about stories that don't match up the facts . . . . Right. Changelings. Our world doesn't have magic but it has _lots_ of stories about magic.

"Including creatures – magical beings – that steal people. It's usually children in the stories. But not always. They steal them away and . . . change them. Make them – not human. Their own kind. See?

"Well, that's what the Goblins of the Gloaming do. They ride out into the real world. At certain times. At certain seasons. The dead – the almost dead of battles – it's always battles – these are their prey. At those times, they can leave a glamour, a spell wrapped around twigs and bits of hair, something they give the seeming of the warrior who would have died.

"Then, they take that one back with them. They put him on their black altars and . . . change them.

"The black altars. They call them Altars of Night. That has a literal meaning. They feed your memories to the dark, if they catch you. Your soul – your soul's not gone. I was told once it's as if it's caught in a spider's web, able to sense, to understand, unable to move, to influence.

"You soul is still bound to you – you die without it – but, trust me, you don't act like a person with a soul."

Baelfire looked pale as that sunk in. But –

"I'm not a warrior," he said. "What does that have to do with me?"

He thought things through. Good.

"We're in their lands," Siri said. "They don't have to wait for you to be near death, here. They'll just take you. If they can."

"What about you?"

And then there was the problem with smart kids. He'd noticed her use of the second person.

"Ah," Siri paused, pretending to be looking around and getting her bearings. "I'm . . . not prey for them. Not that way. It won't do anything if they drag me up on one of those altars. Well, nothing they want to see happen.

"But – " she turned on him, "I tell you run, _you run_. You don't wait for me. You don't try to help me. You run fast as you can.

"And don't look back.

"There won't be anything you want to see."

Baelfire trailed her in silence for a while.

But, only a while.

Then –

"Where are we going?"

"Someplace safe. Safer. If we last till sunset – sunset back in our – in _my_ world, I can get us back. I can only open the road in the hours of night or twilight."

"Why?"

She glanced at him, liking the hard tone in his voice. That was a demand with a world of suspicion behind it, not an idle query. He had a suspicious mind.

She liked people like that.

Though Tom would probably point out a kid Bae's age shouldn't have seen the things that would make him ask like that.

"This place and I, we have a history. Most of what I can do is bound by its rules. The Goblins won't walk in your world or mine during hours of daylight, not if they can help it.

"Oh, and your dagger – this is important. It's from this world, Goblin made. There's not a Goblin here who won't recognize the clan and hall it comes from.

"They won't like it.

"But, there's a chance – a small chance – if they catch you, they might respect that, they might take you where it came from – and that'll be a safe place. For you. Well, mostly safe.

"But, it's a slim chance. So, fight if they get you cornered. Trust me, fighting won't make a difference in what they decide to do. Hurt them. Kill them if you can." She sighed. "My brother would kill me for telling a kid to do that. But, it's you or them. So, make sure it's not you, OK?

"But, better yet, make sure it doesn't come to that. Just run."


	5. Shadows Behind You

Bae trudged through the snow, glad he was wearing his boots. Siri walked lightly over the snow, her sickle gripped tightly, as she kept looking around, wary as a cat. Bae followed her example and kept a hand on the dagger's hilt.

"What attacked us?" he asked her, keeping his voice low.

Siri shrugged. "I don't know. Something dark. It looked like a black flame, all tattered, with claws and red eyes. And a medallion, large, made of gold. Anything you know?"

Bae shook his head. "My father – I wonder if my father made it."

Siri gave him a sharp glance. "You think your father would attack you? Across worlds?"

Bae shrugged, feeling miserable and uncertain. "I don't know. Maybe. If he could. If he thought that thing could bring me back."

"Hmm, didn't look like a messenger to me. Or a carpool home. Anyhow, he attacked the Winnebago. Not a smart thing to do if he was supposed to find you and bring you back unharmed."

"It – it blew up your whinny – whinny-_bag_-o." It sounded like something you'd call a bag of horse feed, Bae thought, wondering if that had something to do with the large wagon getting its name.

"Well, tore through it. Surprised it got through the protective charms as fast as it did. Once we were clear, I, er, set off the gas tank."

"Gas tank?"

"Yeah, the engine's powered by a highly flammable liquid. How it burns is carefully controlled – just a bit at a time. Drop a flame in the whole tank –boom! Fire is usually a good bet against shadowy demons – not always. But usually. And cold iron had already bombed out. So, I figured, why not?"

There was something about SIri's practical approach to fighting shadows and demons that was comforting and terrifying at the same time. "You – did your brother tell you about my papa?"

Another sharp glance. Her black eyes had an eerie way of glittering. "Yeah. Got magic, some way that you don't want to talk about but sounds dark. Called the Dark One. Has scaled skin, claws, and weird eyes. Has been forgetting himself since he got power. Not like going-power-mad forgetting himself and not like sorry-do-I-know-you? forgetting himself – and not exactly like he's forgetting his conscience either. More like the knowledge, his conscience, it's all there, he just can't see how it applies to the problem when you tell him not to – to hurt someone."

She didn't say _kill_.

"Yes," Bae said. He trudged along silently. Then, he burst out, "Do you know what does that to him? Could you change it?"

"Uh . . . . OK, Bae, _Tom_'s the heroic one. I aim for battles with reasonable odds. I know the meaning of the word retreat and can say in a dozen languages. The only way I'd take on your dad would be with a whole lot of backup or a bunch of very carefully phrased, no loopholes, magically enforced contracts, capish?"

"Ca-what?"

"Capish. Do you understand? Do I make myself clear?"

"Uh, yes. You can't help him."

She looked offended. "I didn't say _that_. But, I don't know the parameters of what's happened to him. It's not like the curse of the Gloaming. Not really. They don't remember. And most of them couldn't find their conscience if it stood on a table and danced – that's a metaphor. Not literal. I haven't seen many separate, corporeal consciences this side of Jiminy Cricket. And I've never heard if he dances. On tables, that is."

She thought a bit. "It does sound a little like something that happened to my Uncle Lucian. That was . . . tricky."

"But, you fixed it?"

"Well, not me personally. It was more my Uncle Lucian. And my cousin Hank. And my aunt, a bit. Uncle Lucian got stabbed in the back by a burning blade – that's literal, not a metaphor – and very, really, nearly dead before that was all worked out. Although, honest, we all know he let Hank get the drop on him . . . . You probably don't want to go that route. Really. Save attempted patricide till the whole world's about to go up in flames or get eaten by darkness or _something _like that before you go for it. It's bad karma even when you know you're not overreacting – and overreacting is just _embarrassing_ even when there aren't corpses – or even if you don't know any of the corpses personally.

"Speaking of which," she added, "soon as we pass that tree over there, start running as hard as you can _that_ way." She pointed with her chin, not lifting a hand to show. In case something saw and realized she knew it was there, Bae thought. "I'll go the other way and hold them. _Don't stop for anything._"

They reached the tree.

Bae ran.

She'd told him earlier not to look back, but he couldn't help it. He had to know what was after them.

Despite her earlier description, he'd expected creatures like Ogres. What he saw instead was three men, black as shadows, dressed in silver and jet. He saw their smiles. Siri had been right when she said they were fanged, but she had neglected to say how their teeth were black and glittering like iron. They rode beasts like horses with shining, silver scales and yellow serpent eyes.

He should stay and fight.

But, he had promised Siri to run.

And Siri knew this world, said the danger to Bae was greater than the danger to her, and . . . .

And he thought she might be right.

Then a scaled horse reared up out of the snow in front of him, giving a hissing growl, while it's rider, a woman with skin glittering darkly, like her teeth, grinned down at him.

0

**Author's notes:**

**For anyone interested, the Goblins look a great deal like the Goblin on the cover of C.J. Cherryh's book, The Goblin Mirror, though their skin is darker with a metallic quality.**

**I needed the Winnebago to be attacked and hadn't worked out the details before season 2's premiere. That clarified things nicely, since it was the wraith that did it (just to let you know, the wraith had reasons for going after Siri and Tom that neither they nor Gold expected – although Gold might have if he'd known a bit more about Siri and Tom's odder relatives).**


	6. Shadow and Ice

Bae pulled out the dagger.

"Oh, easy, brave warrior!" the woman mocked, bringing her steed under control as it plummeted down. The beast stomped its feet and tossed its head, waiting for its mistress' orders before trampling him.

The boys in Bae's village grew up practicing for war, playing at swords and staves. He had heard stories about warhorses. He couldn't outrun a horse – or whatever that was – but he was more maneuverable and could dodge in and out of the trees, maybe get around behind it. If he could get a good slice at its legs, maybe cut the tendons . . . .

"Here, little warrior, see?" The woman held up her sword, still sheathed, so he could see the pommel. It had the same device as the dagger, a block stone set in a silver sunburst. "We are companions in arms, you and I." She grinned, showing her black teeth.

Like but not like his father's, he thought. His father's were the color of rot, of things old and decayed. Hers gleamed. Her curly hair was tied off in tangled web of small braids and ponytails, with beads and what looked like fragments of broken, colored glass tied to them with bits of leather and black string.

Siri had said the Goblins would recognize the device and that they might – _might!_ – take him to the place it belonged to.

She hadn't said anything about people who belonged there, too.

"Peace, Mehitabel," a cold voice that chimed like a bell broke in behind him.

Bae whirled. There was another woman standing behind him. This one was ice white with eyes like sapphires, gashes of color in her pale face. She had an amused, superior look that made him think of a smug kitten. She held a silver stiletto, a sky blue gem in its hilt, toying with it idly. "He looks a clever child," she went on. "He'll not disarm for the first Goblin that asks him." Her breath left mists of cold fog on the air.

"And you're helping?"

"_I'm_ not a Goblin. Tell me, child," she said, looking at Bae. "Who gave you that dagger? Or did you steal it from him?"

"I didn't steal anything!" He wasn't about to make a gift to them of Tom Rosa's name. He thought of things his father had said about how names could be used. No, he _definitely_ wasn't going to do that.

"Impasse, witch," the Goblin woman said, laughing.

The ice girl grinned. "Said I not he's a clever one? Well, lad, here's proof of good will." She pulled a off a locket – it had been hidden inside her blouse, a locket that looked as though it were made of white ice. She tossed it to him. He caught it reflexively. It was very cold.

"Go ahead, you may open it," she said.

Bae looked from her to it uncertainly, suspecting some kind of trap even if he couldn't imagine what.

Though she'd sounded impatient, the pale woman seemed ready to wait all night. The Goblin woman snickered.

Bae opened the locket.

There was a picture inside. Tom Rosa.

"You – you know Tom Rosa?"

The pale woman made a motion, oddly dancelike, between a bow and a curtsy, her arms spread (the dagger still twirling in one hand). "I have that honor. I am Silver, at your service."

"Are you –" he looked at the Goblin woman, "– a friend of Tom Rosa?"

"For lack of a better term," the Goblin woman said.

"Yes," Silver told him, frowning at the Goblin. "We are."

"Then – then you need to help his sister, Siri. She told me to run. There were other Goblins back there. I don't think they were friends.

0

"Owwww," Tom said when he woke up.

It was going to be one of those days.

He felt something sharp against his throat. "All right, who are you and _what_ are you? And I want the truth."

Oh, correction: it was going to be one of _those_ days.

He opened his eyes and saw a man . . . two men . . . no, back to one man, again – standing over him with a sword. Or maybe there were two of him.

"Are you twins?" Tom asked.

For some reason, this was the wrong thing to ask. The man, who hadn't looked too happy to being with, looked like he was thinking of putting the sword through something soft and vital – heart, jugular, something like that.

"I. Asked. You. A. Question."

Viva, the guy was doing that hard bit, single word grammar bit. Never a good sign. Wait, question? What question? Oh, right, the usual ones.

"I'm Tom Rosa. From Portland. Maine." He added in case there was any doubt.

"Nobody in Portland has those ears. Or teeth. Where are you really from?"

Uh-oh . . . .

And he usually did such a good job of hiding the ears. That's why he let his hair grow out.

And his canines _were_ within human norms.

Just at the really extreme end of them.

"Uh, usually, I tell anyone who notices that the ears were the result of a plastic surgeon and my Lord of the Rings phase. Unless they're far enough away to think they're fake. Then, I'm just on my way to a science fiction convention. But, really, I'm not from Storybrooke. And I have an apartment in Portland. I'm a registered voter and everything."

"He's telling the truth, Mr. Nolan," a familiar voice said. "Or do you prefer Prince Charming?"

Tom looked over and saw Gold walking towards him. Things were getting better. There was only one of him. Good thing. From the look on his face, Tom wouldn't want to be dealing with two.

He was beginning to remember what had happened. Black shadow creature attacking, Tom hoping a magic sword would work on it, either Siri deciding fire was a good defense or something else starting a few blazes . . . .

And, now, he was in the middle of the road by the remains of his sister's Winnebago with not one but _two_ people who looked like they wanted to kill him.

"You know him?" Nolan/Charming asked.

"Oh, yes," Gold said. "I can vouch for his identity. If not his honesty. Mr. Rosa, _where is Baelfire?_

Oh, yeah. Definitely shaping up to be one of _**those**_days.


	7. Did You Forget Something Important?

"_Where is Baelfire?"_

One look at Gold was enough to bring Tom's wariness out, front and center.

As an ally, if he didn't have any reason to stab you in the back and if your interests coincided, Gold was all right. Tom knew that. He also wasn't too bad if you'd worded your contract very, very carefully – Tom didn't know how well he would do, but he'd bet good money on Siri being able to hold her own.

Maybe.

If Gold wasn't feeling too vicious.

Which was what he was dealing with right now.

"We got attacked. I held off that thing while Siri got Baelfire out."

"Your sister," Gold said evenly. "Can open exactly one portal. To one world."

"Uh . . . yeah. That place. It, uh, looked better than here. Right then."

"A portal?" Nolan/Charming said, major interest in his eyes. "Where to?"

"The Gloaming," Gold answered before Tom could say anything. "A place of no interest to you. A shadow land inhabited by monsters that prey on anything human that comes their way." He turned his attention back to Tom. "That's where your sister took that boy."

"He's got Siri with him," Tom protested.

"Oh, there's a comfort. One of her against all of them."

"There are safe places, there. Once she reaches one –"

"_If_ she reaches one –"

Nolan/Charming interrupted. "Gold, who are these people? And why do you care?"

"Mr. Rosa, here, is part Goblin – not the kind we had back in our world, a different breed. He has nothing to do with Storybrooke or the curse. However, he wandered through here a few months ago and managed to get on the bad side of Regina. At the time, I thought it was worth the effort to help him leave town. Alive."

Tom noticed all the things being skimmed over or left out. Well, nobody was asking him to fill in the blanks.

If Nolan/Charming noticed the gaps, he didn't comment. "And this Siri and Baelfire? Who are they? And what happened to him?"

"Siri Rosa is Mr. Rosa's sister and something of a witch. She has a very narrow range of skills but, I believe, is quite vicious in utilizing them. One is her ability to open a portal to the world her less human relations called home."

"And Baelfire? He mentioned a boy."

"Ah, yes," Gold said. "He's –"

"I'd like to hear Rosa's version. Not yours. Well?" He turned to Tom. "You were bringing a child to Rumplestiltskin. Why?"

_Rumple -? _

Oh.

Oh, crap.

"I met up with a kid," Tom said. "He was lost, and I could tell there was something magic about him. But he wasn't from any world I knew. I wound up calling Gold. Thought he might know something. He said to bring the kid over. He didn't mention the welcoming committee."

"To _him?_"

"Excuse me, you think I've got a huge list of people I can check with when magic happens? You guys are from another world. I thought I'd give it a try."

Nolan/Charming turned his attention back to Gold – Rumplestiltskin, aka, the Dark One. Great. Just great. "And you were just going to help him out of the goodness of your heart?"

Gold shrugged. "Hardly. The young man in question is . . . no one in particular. But, his father is something of a wizard. And one I've heard of. Portal jumping may be outside my purview, but I do know something about other worlds. And some of the creatures in them. I believe I might be able to contact this Baelfire's father and that he . . . might be grateful enough to do a few, small favors for me." He turned to Tom, his face completely calm if you didn't notice the cold fury burning in his eyes. "Of course, I wasn't expecting your sister to take him to try to get him killed when I decided that."

"She had to get him out –"

"Your sister can't form a portal in Storybrooke. She had to recross the border to do that. _The wraith couldn't follow her_."

"Oh," Tom had known about the portal, of course. Storybrooke, in this regard, was another world – and Siri had already found out it wasn't a world she could enter through the Gloaming. "I don't think she knew that."


	8. All in the Family

When Mehitabel arrived, the fight was already over.

She'd expected that but didn't bother to hide her disappointment.

Young Siri was curled up against a tree, her gold sickle clasped tight in her hand. She was gasping for breath and bleeding.

But hardly dying.

The same couldn't be said for the Goblins foolhardy enough to attack her.

Mehitabel inspected them from her mount. Of the Goblins, two were merely unconscious. One was dead. The numbers were reversed with the mounts, two slain, one alive. She caught the creature's halter and cantered back to Siri.

"Not bad, girl. Did you mean to leave survivors?"

Siri looked up. Her lip was swollen and one eye was already purpling beautifully. She shrugged with only one shoulder, favoring the other. "I'd have preferred not to kill any of them. But, they didn't give me much choice, did they?"

"They were fools to attack you with only three of them." She offered and hand to Siri.

"I got the feeling they didn't know who I was." She took the offered hand with her good arm and let herself be hauled up onto the mount, sitting behind Mehitabel.

"Fools twice over, then." _Greenlings_, Mehitabel thought but didn't say. _Fresh meat from the altars, not to even know the Captain's child._

No reason to trouble Siri with such thoughts. These might be new enough to the Shadow Life to still have family and friends living in whatever lands they came from. If she said as much to Siri, the girl would want to take them to the Moon Altar, to have their lives and souls restored, and it couldn't be done, not now. Goblin blood felt when the woods were troubled. She would not burden herself with prisoners when she needed to the get Siri and the others to shelter.

"There was a boy," Siri said. "A human boy . . . ."

"I found him. He has your brother's dagger."

"Where – where is he?" Siri's weariness temporarily evaporated. "You didn't leave him _behind?_"

Mehitabel laughed. Wounded and weak and ready to take her on. It was no wonder she was fond of this child. "No, nothing like that. I left him with that cat-witch of yours, Silver. She came here hunting you, seemed to think you were in trouble."

Siri groaned. "What, she couldn't get here _before_ I was in trouble?"

"Evidently not." She laughed. "Foretelling is a chancy gift, girl, as you should know. But, I don't doubt we'll meet them on our way, coming to rescue us."

"I made him _promise_ to leave me behind and head for safety."

"So he did. And, if he has any eye for loopholes in a promise – and I never knew a boy his age who didn't – he has already realized that he left you and found safety. If he is a wise child, he knows there is more safety here with you and me than by himself. Even with the cat-witch."

Siri cursed in the inadequate language of her world. Mehitabel laughed again. "And what were you doing at fourteen? Busy saving the world, as I remember."

"Busy getting drafted into fixing somebody else's mess. I was never stupid enough to volunteer for that job."

"Truly? I seem to have misunderstood. Never mind. Here comes your young hero. You can save your curses for him."

0

The fight was over by the time Bae caught up with Mehitabel. In fact, Mehitabel was already riding back, leading another one of those scaly mounts. A battered Siri was mounted behind the Goblin woman.

She scowled at Bae. "I thought I told you to run," she said.

Bae looked at her bruised face and the hunched way she sat. "You needed help," he told her.

Mehitabel laughed. There was a wild, insane edge to it that reminded Bae of . . . things he'd rather not be reminded of. The Goblin woman told Siri, "Don't worry, girl, I'll explain the _etiquette_ of disobeying orders later, so he can do it more properly in the future." She turned to Silver. "Here, witch, mount up. Siri can ride with you. Boy, you'll ride with me."

Bae looked uneasily at the Goblin woman, not liking the idea or her mad cheerfulness, and wondering how to turn her down without getting himself turned into a snail and stepped on.

Siri was the one who rescued him. "No," she said before he could come up with a good lie. "I'll ride with Bae. Just help me get on the stupid mount."

"Girl –"

"I promised to look after him. And I don't think he's going to be comfortable with you."

Bae felt his face turn red. At least she hadn't accused him of being _afraid_ to ride with Mehitabel.

Even if it sounded like the same thing.

But, Mehitabel shrugged as if it made no difference to her (and maybe it didn't). She didn't make Siri get down from her mount and onto the other, however, getting on the second mount herself.

"Can you ride?" Bae asked Siri as he mounted up behind her. She liked she might fall off if he didn't hold onto her.

Siri gave a shrug of her own, one shouldered. "Not much choice. The mounts don't take directions from anyone but a Goblin. Or a part Goblin."

He stared at her, then at Mehitabel. "You said Goblins don't . . . breed."

"I said the don't breed with Goblins. They don't. Not with mortals either, much. There's one exception. If there's a mortal, a human, a Goblin was bound by oaths to before being cursed. It has to be before. Oaths go weird once they've changed . . . . Never mind. Complicated. They can't do it. So, it has to be a mortal the Goblin was married to before he became a Goblin – and it's always a he. Female Goblins don't have children. No matter what.

"Most of Goblins don't remember their human lives. Most who do get them back years after those lives are history. Nothing to go back to.

"But, there are always exceptions. One of them left a son. Who had a daughter. Who was my grandmother.

"Not that my brother and me knew much about that. We thought we were dirt normal till Tom got himself dragged to a Night Altar.

"Which was when everybody found out what happens when you try to change mixed bloods. Our memories and souls don't go anywhere. But our Goblin blood wakes up.

"Tom goes through a _lot_ of trouble to cover up his ears, and his nails need a major trim every morning – he uses the kind of files they use on horse hooves when they're getting shoed.

"Oh, and he gets feelings about places to be and things like that. That's his own talent. If Goblins have that one, they can't be quiet long enough in their own heads to notice it."

"I heard that, girl," Mehitabel called.

"And am I right?"

"Of course."

"What about you?" Bae asked.

"Oh. That," she hesitated. "I don't know. I picked up stuff. Tricks. Tom and me, we travelled to some weird places when we were kids. I can do small magics. I don't know what would happen if anybody dragged me to a Night Altar. Maybe nothing. Maybe, I'd just be like Tom – maybe, I'd even lose the magic I have. Maybe not.

"Most Goblins would sooner see me dead than find out."


	9. Goblin Tales

They reached the clearing.

The part of Siri that was a sane, practical, slightly cutthroat accountant never quite trusted the safety of the clearing. Even though it was pretty solidly proven. The different tribes/companies raided each other freely in the woods, but each fortress was sacrosanct. The only way someone from another company was coming in here was if they were dragged, possibly in chains.

Which happened often enough.

The décor was sort of demented Tolkien, she thought, as if someone had given Orcs the job of creating Lothlorien. There was a lot of wood involved, a lot of it still rooted in the ground and growing. For the rest, nailing up boards, weaving in vines, piling up branches – it was all pretty haphazard and various parts didn't look like they should be holding up. Other parts looked like Yggdrasil wannabes that might, with a little work, hold up nine worlds someday.

But, architectural critique was cut short by her grandfather rushing up to her as she slid off the mount. He caught her up in a bear hug that somehow managed not to hurt all the things (especially her shoulder) that should have been hurt by it.

Goblins had odd talents.

"Well, girl? What mischief were you up to, this time, alone in my woods?"

"Getting out of a battle." She knew that didn't count as a reason for Grandfather, so she nodded towards Bae. "I had to watch out for the civilians."

"Ah, so your friend, Silver, said. What of this boy? What puts him in your care?"

Siri gave a brief summary of Tom finding Bae and deciding to help him, finishing up with the attack.

"Was it any creature you know?"

"Not really. Reminded me a little of the Shadeling. Remember him? He works for Uncle Lucian."

Grandfather snorted. "If your attacker was as unpleasant as _that_ piece of demon spawn, I won't blame you for grabbing the civilian and running."

Siri was enough her grandfather's daughter to bristle at the way he said "running." Somehow – another Goblin talent – he still made it sound like she'd been a rabbit bolting for a hole. "Gee. Thanks. What about Silver? She just happened to show up?"

"She says she'd seen something in water and ice. And her liege lady had word for you. That was all she told us. Do you wish her to remain? Or shall I throw the baggage out?"

Thereby sidestepping what had to be a whole army of problems . . . which would probably still come and hunt Siri down if she didn't face them now.

"No, I'll talk to her."

"Well enough. Then, the witchling can make herself useful and use some of her skills on your injuries. Hey! Cat-girl! Come tend to my granddaughter!

"Don't worry," he added to Siri. "I'll watch after the boy for you."

And, on that distressing note, Siri found herself separated from Bae.

o0o0o0o

The road led into a great clearing with a strange fortress made out of wood and living trees. Goblins milled around it, not unlike the folk of a human castle, going about various tasks, tending their mounts, practicing with weapons, gossiping.

None of that stopped when Bae and the others road in. Instead, all the Goblins paused ever so slightly before going on with exactly what they had been doing before, watching Bae and the rest with sideways glances.

Their smiles, Bae thought, became just a touch broader, their sharp teeth just a bit more exposed.

One Goblin came running up to them. His hair was shorter than Mehitabel's and rose up around his head like black flames. Siri hugged him and called him grandfather.

The two of them had a brief discussion Bae couldn't hear before the Goblin called over Silver, calling her 'cat-girl,' and sent her off with Siri to tend her wounds. Then, he turned his attention to Bae.

"Well met and welcome to my hall, boy. I am the captain of this company, Captain Roberts. And how would you have me call you?"

He wasn't asking for his name, Bae noticed, wondering if Goblins put as much importance on names as his father seemed to. "Is it dangerous to give you my name . . ." he hesitated. ". . . Sir?"

The Goblin laughed, as if Bae had said something clever. "Perhaps, boy. I don't think I'd misuse it, but we're chancy folk – and this land is not the safest of places. Keep it secret, if you've a mind to. I'll call you 'Ben,' if I've a need and if you've no objection. It means 'son,' and I'm sure you're somebody's.

"Now, follow me, and let's get you out of this cold."

The Goblin's hall was a confusing maze of twisting corridors, rickety bridges, and sudden, unexpected openings, made harder to navigate by the dim light. Many were only partly covered and walls, when they existed, were warped and cracked. The wind moved freely around them.

Then, the Goblin opened a door on a small, elegant room.

The house his father had made for them had nothing like this. There_ might_ be something like this in the duke's palace, Bae thought, but he wasn't sure.

The walls were smooth and white. There was a fireplace made of white marble at one end. The furniture was strange, chairs and couches covered with velvet cloth over soft cushions. There was a small table, barely up to Bae's knee, over a carpet woven in jewel colored patterns with white tassels. Along the walls were paintings and shelves with odd knick-knacks and an army of books. There were oil lamps, candlesticks, and a tall candelabrum almost like a small tree.

"What is this place?" Bae asked.

"Hmm? Oh, a place where humans might feel more comfortable. Warm, well-lit, things you value more than we do."

"But –" He wanted to say it wasn't just that it was warm and well-lit. The things in it, the decorations and luxuries, he'd already seen enough of the fortress to be pretty sure Goblins ideas of beautiful things were limited to armor and weapons. Then, he remembered what Siri had said about her grandparents, a Goblin and a human. "You wife."

The Goblin raised a black, feather-like brow. "Indeed. These were hers. I brought them here when she died." He grinned at the memory. "Had to steal all of them."

"What? But they were yours."

"No, no, no, boy, they were _hers._ She hadn't spoken to me for years and years before she passed away. My fault entirely.

"I'd have bought the things," he added. "There are ways to find coin, after all. But, the auction was to be held at midday. While people's reactions to me might have been entertaining, I decided not to chance it."

_Hadn't spoken for years and years. _Bae remembered what a soldier had said about his own mother. "She . . . left you?" Bae asked.

"Aye, I gave her cause enough. I don't know how it is in your world but . . . sometimes, there are wounds that can't be mended.

"And Siri would take it out of my hide for weighing you down with an old man's foolish choices. Tell me of yourself, lad. What can have been so terrible that traveling with my granddaughter was the better choice?"

Bae wondered what his father would say if he knew his son was telling a Goblin about him. But . . . he'd already told the Goblin's grandchildren. He supposed there was no reason to hold back so, for the third time that night, he told his story, what had happened to his father, how he had called on the Blue Star for aid, how his father had broken his promise . . . how he had met Tom and Siri and been attacked by the black shadow, whatever it was.

"Ah, and let me guess," Captain Roberts said. "Tom says go home and forgive all, and Siri says run as hard as you can and put a torch to anything that tries to drag you back, eh?"

"Siri just said she'd help me run if I wanted."

"Amazing. Perhaps she's tired. I would have expected torches to be mentioned somewhere. She likes solving problems with flames, that girl."

"And what do you advise me to do?"

"Me? Nothing, boy. I wouldn't presume to judge. I don't know what your father was and I don't know what your father is. I can't tell you the good or the evil that will come of either choice."

"Why not?" Bae felt a rush of anger. This Goblin with his slightly mad way of talking seemed like he should be able to understand what had happened to Papa if anyone did. "You were changed, weren't you? You used to be human."

"Indeed," the Goblin grinned and sprawled into one of the chairs. He changed as he did so. Suddenly, it wasn't a Goblin in black and silver armor and leathers in front of him. It was a human wearing an unbuttoned great coat over what looked like a uniform, white trousers and vest with a blue jacket and brass buttons. He looked a bit like Tom, though his hair was shorter and not nearly as curly. He was still dark, though not nearly as dark as before. His red-brown skin reminded Bae of some of the travelling gypsies who used to come through the village before the war – and the forced recruitments for battle – drove them away.

His grin, however, despite the white teeth, was purely Goblin.

"Behold me as I was in life." He said the words as if they were some kind of joke. "A lieutenant in his Majesty King George III's navy. I'll tell you how to fight the French and how to wage a war at sea, if you want, but there's not much other advice I can give you."

"Why not?"

"Lad, did Siri tell you how it was with me? When I was taken to the Gloaming, I lost all memory of everyone and everything I loved – and much of the power to love as well. Goblins are selfish, self-centered beings.

"My sister, who is stubborn and relentlessly practical in the face of horror in the way only a well brought up Englishwoman can be, decided to find me and change me back. Miraculously, she did so.

"But, she also failed disastrously – I was, after all, her first attempt. She brought back only my memories, not my heart.

"As I said, a Goblin heart is selfish. Also fierce and cruel. Things that would break a heart of stone we only find amusing. Even those of us here, who are more human than the rest, tend to laugh at misfortune.

"So, I remembered my life. I remembered I had a wife and something of the feelings I'd had for her, their fierceness if none of the softness that had gone with them. I wrapped myself in illusions – as you see me, now – and came back to her.

"Communications were poor in those days. She was only too ready to believe the reports of my death were in error, especially since she could see me standing there before her – if you want advice, take that for free: be careful trusting the evidence of your own eyes.

"Our illusions only work at night. Morning came. My wife saw, well –" the uniformed man vanished, replaced again by a Goblin "-_this._ There were shouts, screams. I think she tried to kill me with an iron poker. Crosses and crucifixes also appeared – those are religious icons, very popular in Italy, where my dear lady was from. I was hit by a gold crucifix that had been a gift to her mother from the Doge of Venice . . . Well, to make a short tale of it, I fled.

"But, I returned. By then, she had taken numerous precautions against such as me. I was not able to get at her directly – I don't know what I would have done if I had, and I'm glad not knowing – but I was a terror to those who tried to help her.

"Till my sister tracked me down and took matters into her own hands. She realized my soul needed to somehow be brought back to me – which, in the end, she managed.

"If I could have made amends to my wife, then, I would have. But, as far as she was concerned, I was a monster, a demon. There was nothing I could do to pay back what I had done.

"If your father is what I was, keep yourself safe. If he will harm others, coming after you, keep them safe. But, if you can save him . . . . I remember what I was when I was nothing but a monster. You cannot imagine what it means to me to be at least something like a man. My sister shines like a goddess to those of us who have had ourselves given back to us – which exasperates her no end, she's very proper Church of England.

"But, I would never have asked my son to hazard his life to give that to me.

"Yet, if I had stood in the place to give my own father such a gift, I would have. And I'd have counted it cheap if I died giving it.

"That's three things: save your father, save the others, save yourself. And, if you cannot do all, I'm not the one to tell you how to pick and choose among them.

"But, I'll tell you true boy, I would take a knife to my own throat before I let a son of mine give his life for me. If your father cannot feel that, he's not worth of such a gift. If he can feel it, you would kill him in the giving."


	10. Shadows and Songs

They were in one of the more 'human friendly' rooms of the Goblin fortress. Silver examined Siri's wounds. Most of them weren't too bad, but one deeply disturbed her.

"What's _that?_"

"Stupid shadow thing," Siri said. "Got me there. Let me guess," she added as Silver gave it a more in depth examination. "Creeping rot? Turning me into a monster? A vampire, maybe? Or Auntie A?"

"No, just marks you as prey, I think," Silver said, relieved. "And my lady isn't a monster."

"Looks like a duck, quacks like a duck . . . ."

"Just let me clean it off, all right?"

"Uh, no offense, but sure you're up to the job? Maybe we should find Tristy or Aunt Stella or–"

"They're not here. And, don't worry, I'm guessing whatever did this was some kind of dark servant, maybe undead, probably eats souls or something. Nothing we haven't seen before."

"You know, sometimes it really strikes me how weird our definition of normal is. Say, what do you suppose happens when soul eaters use the restroom, anyway?"

"Hopefully, they make better jokes. You know as well as I do, soul eaters either transfer the souls to some kind of purgatory or swallow them up in their own darkness till something comes along and cuts them open – although, I think those, what are they called, _demonentors_, wasn't it? They just absorb the earthly compatible spectrum of astral energy. Then, the tortured soul moves on the way it always should. Demonentor_s_ are wimps. Hold on."

Silver pulled up her own energy, silver, starlight, snowlight, the elements she was tied to that represented purity, shaping them into healing, rooting out the darkness. The odd mark burned away. Then, she concentrated on the more normal problems, the dislocated shoulder and other injuries Siri'd picked up fighting Goblins, along with some bruising and a couple burns that may have happened when her car blew up and she was running through the woods (Silver, who understood a few things about Siri's world, wondered what the police report and insurance claim would look like this time).

Then, that was it.

"Get some rest," Silver said. "You were up all day and all night, weren't you?"

"The Goblins probably want us to sing for them."

"I'll do it. You've probably got a fight ahead of you when you get back."

"Don't suppose you'd care to join in and knock a few heads with me?"

"Ah, about that. My lady had a message for me to give you."

"Why does this sound bad?"

"It's not. Not really. Er, I had to tell her what happened in Storybrooke."

"Uh-huh. Was this _had-the-information-forced-out-of-you-with-hot-pincers_ had-to-tell or _couldn't-wait-to-squeal_ had-to-tell?"

"Neither. This was _my-lady-knew-something-was-up-and-asked-so-I-told-her_. I thought she'd keep Dad in check. He was, well . . . ."

"Ready to collect Regina's scalp?"

"And various other bits of her anatomy – and in as many _bits_ as possible. He is a cat, you know. He knows how to toy with his prey."

"C'mon, he's never –"

"There's a difference between knowing _how_ and doing it, Siri. Same way he probably knows a thousand grimoires by heart but can barely cast a spell. Well, not the_ same_. Mom says he used to be awful bringing her mice and basilisks and things back in the day. I mean, he toyed with his prey. Just not, you know, _people_. But he was ready to have a go at her evil majesty. My lady told him not to."

"Why does that fail to reassure me?"

"Because you know her? She told Dad to stand down. As our liege, she decided the insult was to her and was hers to answer."

"She didn't – she's _not . . . ._"

"No, she's not. Sort of.

"Storybrooke isn't really part of your world, you know. It interfaces with it, but it's not part of it. So, my lady doesn't feel it would be infringing on your territory – or Lord Lucian's interests – to go there."

"Leaving a large, smoking crater in Maine _would_ infringe. And bring down property values."

"She has been known to be subtle, Siri. And I'm only a lesser servant. What happened isn't worth a _big_ fuss. She probably wouldn't do more than spend a few days – maybe a few weeks – a few months tops – killing her. That's if she doesn't go for a curse instead. She knows some nasty ones.

"Except she won't.

"You see, she decided it's not _your_ territory, but it_ is_ Gold's. And she decided she owes him a debt. Hunting in his territory would be unforgivably rude. You know that."

Siri closed her eyes as if she had a headache. "Right. I know that. Thank heaven for Auntie A's territorial instincts. So, I can go home without waiting for Armageddon?"

"Not exactly."

"Oh. Joy. What else?"

"My lady said that, as it's Gold she owes the debt to, if anything were to happen to him – especially if Regina were at fault – she would consider herself doubly bound to, er, deal with it."

"Uh . . . any reason she mentioned this? In particular?"

"I did a casting. I saw shadows in the ice. I think a change may be coming for Gold. Possibly danger as well."

"The curse just got lifted. Maybe that's what you saw."

"Maybe. You want to bet on it?"

Siri rubbed her head. "I don't suppose she'd let me and Tom do revenge? On account of us being Mainers and having dibs?"

"You could ask her. But, I think part of her reason for claiming this is because . . . Regina imprisoned me, once, and she nearly caught Tom. She's strong, in her way. My father and I together would probably still be vulnerable to her. The same goes for you and your brother. Regina would be . . . unlikely to injure my lady. Although, my lady might yield her rights to Lord Lucian. You could ask him to talk to her."

"Like Uncle Lucian is an improvement."

"He's more . . . direct than my lady. His revenges are less . . . troubling."

"Oh, goody. I'll remember that next time I wake up screaming from nightmares. No. We'll just deliver the message, get Bae home, and maybe stab Regina on the way out, just to be safe. Or convince her to move somewhere far away from Maine. And Earth."

"I can come along for that. I just can't stab her," Silver thought for a moment. "But, I can loan you a knife. And hold her while you use it."

"Silver, I was _joking_. First degree murder doesn't look good on the resume, OK?"

Silver grinned. "I know. And I know how Tom feels about murder, too. Especially in your own world. Oh, but there's more to the message. I almost forgot. My lady says to tell Gold Angrboda, Grief Bringer, remembers the Spinner and wishes him well."

"Wait, what? Auntie A _knows_ Gold? How –?"

"She said he once journeyed to her lands, looking for a way to another world, but the way was closed to her as well. She gave him such assistance as she could, but neither of them, together or separately, could force a passage through."

Siri's mouth hung open for a moment. Then, it clicked shut.

"Well," she said. "He met her and lived. That's something. And tell Uncle Lucian this is all his fault."

"Naturally. You should try to sleep, now."

"You expect me to sleep after _this?_ Are you crazy?"

"No, and you're practical. If you don't have an herb or medicine or a spell to bring sleep, I can get you one. Or I can get you Goblin wine. That will have the same effect."

"And a hangover to go with it. Fine, I'll sleep. Just, watch out for Bae, will you? I don't know what's going on, but this is turning into a bigger pile of swill than usual."

"Right, now get some _rest_."

Silver got up and left. She was unsurprised to find the boy, Bae, waiting outside.

"Eavesdropping?" she asked.

He looked embarrassed but nodded. "What – what are you?"

"The daughter of a witch and a cat. Sort of a cat. My father can take a human form. Mostly. His eyes and his claws give him away. He's a familiar, you see, an animal that can store up magic even if he can't use it himself. Though he has a human's intelligence and has picked up a few tricks over the centuries."

"And – and your lady?"

"Hmm, another sort of creature entirely. Have you ever heard the name Angrboda?"

"No, should I have?"

Silver shrugged. "Not really. There are legends tied to that name in Siri's world, but they have nothing to do with my lady. Almost nothing. She is powerful, however, even if she rarely leaves her own territory. She can be quite kind hearted in her way. And quite terrible when angered. But, really, Siri worries too much."

"Powerful," Bae breathed. "All magic – all power – comes with a price, doesn't it?"

Silver shrugged. "I suppose. For my kind, our magic is part of us, and being what we are is the price we pay. My lady pays that price as well. Among others." She eyed the boy speculatively. "Speaking of prices, can you sing?"

"Can I what?"

"Sing. Or make music, play an instrument? You'd think Goblins would be better at making music than humans are, they're so sure fingered. But, they say we play with more soul. Captain Roberts will give us shelter even if you never open your mouth, but I think it's common politeness. Actually, they'll like your singing if you –" Silver grinned, "–howl like a cat. It's just a gift we nonGoblins have. Come on, it'll get your mind off your troubles. I guarantee it. Then, Siri will take us to Storybrooke, you'll make your deal with Gold – but, let Siri, Tom, and me look over any contract or check over any deal he offers. I don't exactly _distrust_ Gold, but the man knows how to get everything he can out of a bargain."

"Why should I trust you?"

Silver thought that one over. "They say the problem with trust is you have to give it before knowing if it was right to give. I'm Siri's friend and Tom's friend, and both of them would be angry if I didn't play fair by you. For the rest, my people always keep our sworn word – but you've got no reason to believe that except my say so – and, fair warning here, _I_ mean to play fair by you, but some of my people can bleed every last drop of vagary from the most definite sentences imaginable.

"And we all have a really awful sense of humor. Odds are I want you to sing in front of Goblins just to embarrass yourself. Come on – and don't drink any of their beer, wine, or ale. That stuff'll go right to your head."


	11. The Dangers of Car Rides and Coffee

"Thanks for the ride," Tom said as he climbed into the tow truck.

The driver, Billy, gave him a warm smile. "No problem, how'd you crash it out here?"

"Long story." He tried to think what he could say that wouldn't be a complete lie but wouldn't drag him into long explanations about what he was and how he got here. "Doing a favor. It involved Gold."

Billy's eyes widened slightly; and Tom bet that, if he'd had Silver's sense of smell, the stench of fear would be rolling off of him. "Don't worry about it," Tom told him. "He's not the one who burned the RV. That happened when that shadow thing attacked. He's not mad at me," Gold was holding off on being mad to see if Siri came back with his son in one piece. After that, all bets were off. "And he won't be mad at you giving me a tow."

Billy licked his lips nervously. "You sure about that?"

Tom shrugged. "He was there when Prince Charming called you and didn't seem to care. I think he had other things on his mind."

"Right," Billy said. "Other stuff. I'm not asking. So, uh, that shadow thing, it got all the way out here? Do you know what it was?"

"Seemed kind of like a shade demon, not that I got a good look. If you meet one of those, they don't like light or fire – and this one backed off when the Winnebago blew up." He wondered if he should mention the rest. But, if that thing – or anything like it – was wandering around Storybrooke, best give Billy a heads up. "Smelled kind of undead, so I'm guessing it feeds off life force or souls in some way."

"Wait a second, you can _smell_ undead?"

"Uh, yeah. Doesn't come up often," Change subject, change subject, change subject. "You got any strange talents coming back?"

Billy looked embarrassed. "Some. I can smell things – but _normal_ things. Plants. Crackers. Cheese."

"Sounds a lot more useful. Were you a werewolf or something?" No, bad question. Most werewolves were pretty self-conscious about it. Or anti-social in that whole, give-into-the-wolf, let's-show-sharks-what-a-feeding-frenzy-should-really-look-like kind of way that real wolves never went for.

"Uh, no," Billy said. "Mouse."

"Excuse me?"

"Mouse. I was a mouse. I lived in Cinderella's cupboard. I ate cheese. I was a mouse."

"Oh," Tom said. So, Disney got something right. He wondered if Cinderella was a witch (or something) and didn't know it. When witches hung out with animals with potential as familiars, the animals started absorbing magic and gaining intelligence. Or they did if Silver's dad was any guide to go by. But maybe he shouldn't mention his girlfriend the cat and her family. Fortunately, that wasn't the only animal person he'd met. "I knew a guy who was a mouse, once. At least, I'm pretty sure he started as a mouse. Instead of getting turned into one. He could still turn into one when he needed." OK, could he sound any stupider? He needed coffee. Fast. "Mauzhrin, that was his name. Ever heard of him?" Not likely, since Mauzhrin lived in New York, but it was something to talk about.

"Don't think so. There are a lot of mice. He could turn human? Without a fairy godmother or anything?"

Tom shrugged. "He worked for a wizard. That guy might have given him the ability. I never heard. But, if the wizard gave it to him, it was still a permanent gift. Mauzhrin didn't need spells or charms or anything to do it."

"Rumplestiltskin, was that the wizard?"

"No, another guy. Lucian." Should he even be mentioning Uncle Lucian here, given the way his luck was going?

"Never heard of him."

Tom shrugged. "He didn't get out much. He'd given Mauzhrin a job to watch over some things he'd left buried and then forgot about him." He hoped Uncle Lucian wouldn't mind character assassination by half-truth. Probably not, given how much worse the truth was. "So, you were a mouse. Then, the curse turned you into a man. How's that working for you?"

"It's good. I like being bigger than cats. And there's a girl . . . ." he trailed off. "I'm glad, when the curse broke, I didn't get turned back into a mouse. You know, I got turned into a horse once. By Rumplestiltskin. I'd be willing to make a deal with him not to be a mouse again."

"Uh . . . ." _Not till he knows if his son is safe, you wouldn't. And maybe not after, depending how the reunion goes. _"He seemed kind of edgy – mostly about something the shadow monster had done," he added hastily, not wanting to make Billy think he'd be safer letting Tom walk to town. And it was true. Sort of. The shadow was the reason Siri jumped ship for the Gloaming, after all, Bae in tow. "Give him a while to calm down. And have a lawyer look over any contract he gives you before you sign."

When they got to town, Billy had plenty more cars to rescue. Tom thanked him for the lift and went in search of food. Billy had recommended Granny's, a place Tom remembered from his last visit. He hoped Granny's bed and breakfast wasn't going to be full of people whose homes had been damaged by the shadow monster, or he might find himself camping in the woods. Oh, well, food first.

There was a small horde of stressed out people at Granny's, none of them very interested in food, which was good because it didn't look like any was getting cooked. They were talking about the curse and everything that had happened since it was broken maybe 24 hours before.

_Wow, _Tom thought, _Looks like I caught Gold just at the right moment._

_Or just the wrong one. Maybe the _worst _one._

Oh, well, at least he hadn't been turned into a frog.

Yet.

Given the chaos, he didn't even try to order a hot meal, settling for a stale cinnamon roll, leftover from the day before and industrial strength coffee that had probably been brewing since _at least_ yesterday.

He wondered if he was going to need a pot of the stuff to get through today.

And his weapons. They'd survived the little fireball the exploding gas tank had put them through (Siri's work, Tom thought. It had seemed more her style even at the time. Since then, he'd seen the damage to the town. No fireballs), but Charming had confiscated them. And his armor.

Oh, yeah, one of those days.

Ruby came over and poured him some more coffee. "You all right?" she asked. "You're the only one not talking to anyone."

So much for blending in. The others all _were _talking. "Have you seen my son?" "My daughter, what happened to my daughter?" "The Queen, can she attack us?" "What about Rumplestiltskin?"

Not like Tom had anything to add, but it was no wonder Ruby had noticed.

She'd changed since the last time he saw her. The makeup was no longer plastered on and, as to her clothes, there were more of them and they no longer looked two sizes too small.

Still a lot of red in them.

Ruby. Red. Granny. He'd had that much figured out at the beginning.

Silver had been the one to tell him what her (much more useful than his) sense of smell had to say: wolf.

Amazing the things that got edited out of children's fairy tales, wasn't it?

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just up all night. How about you?"

"Coping. We're trying to get people organized, find out who needs what and where."

Ah, Siri's idea of paradise, organizing people and bossing them around. He'd have to point her at Ruby when she got back. Not that that was an excuse to slouch off (as Siri would no doubt tell him when she showed up). "Anything I can do? I've got some experience in crisis situations."

Ruby looked at him and his hands, trying to place who and what he was – and, probably, how trustworthy. Right, don't put man-eating monsters in charge of babysitting. That would be bad.

Ruby frowned. "I know you, but not from the forest. You're not a Child of the Moon, but your claws . . . ."

"From my grandfather. He wasn't human. But, I'm house-broken. The claws showed up again this morning."

But, she'd placed him. "I know you! You're not –"

"No, I'm not," he cut her off quickly, keeping his voice down and looking to see if anyone had noticed Ruby's outburst. "Look, your Prince Charming knows all about it, OK? What I said is true. My grandfather . . . came over to this world before your town was even built. But, I didn't know there was anything weird here till the first time I visited. Guess it drew me. Blood to blood, Gramps would say. Guess that's what drew me in this time, too, since this is the first I've been back."

Ruby wasn't buying it, but at least she kept her voice to a whisper. "The last time you were here, the town was still under a curse. How would you know about who we are?"

"I was looking for my girlfriend, remember?" Who had been staying at Granny's B&B before apparently taking off in the middle of the night, bills unpaid (Tom had taken care of those before leaving). "She's . . . kind of like me. Regina had her. I got a general idea what was going on by the time I busted her out. And, then, I ran."

Ruby still wasn't entirely buying it, but he could see something else click in her expression. "Your grandfather came here. Did he know a way back? Do _you _know the way back?"

Next time he was hungry, he was raiding a vending machine. In an abandoned building. After phoning in a fake bomb scare to evacuate the neighborhood. "I'm not a Way Walker. Or whatever you guys call it. If there's a way back to your world, Grandfather didn't know it."

"Then why are you here?"

Tom managed a weak grin. "I have the gift of really bad timing."

_OK, _he thought. _Run for the nearest exit. But finish the coffee, first._

o0o0o0o

Tom finished his cinnamon roll, too, before beating a hasty retreat, trying to think over his next move. Stay alive till Siri showed up, that was his current plan. It didn't seem like it should be too hard, but who knew? Find some place to get a little sleep, that also seemed like a good idea. Except he hadn't asked Ruby or her grandmother about a room. And he wasn't going back to ask them, now.

Besides, maybe he should have thought about sleep_ before_ having two cups of coffee. At least he'd stopped short of three. His thoughts weren't quite as fuzzy as they had been, and being knocked out by a shadow monster counted as a nap, didn't it? Maybe –

That was when the man who'd followed him out of the diner pushed him into the alley where his friends were waiting. Two had guns, the other had a knife. So did the man who'd shoved him in.

He'd just walked into this one.

Obviously, he should have had more coffee.


	12. Blood Will Tell

It was funny, Billy thought, how things had worked out with Ashley. He hadn't known who she was in this world, the human who'd saved him from the cat, who gave him a name and who had . . . woken something inside of him.

He _remembered_ his life before Cinderella, not that it had ever been that interesting – exciting, certainly, there was plenty to get excited about when the world was full of large things wanting to eat you.

But, not _interesting._

That had changed when he was around Ashley. Something about her, it was as if his mind began to open up, he thought things he'd never thought before, words, ideas, the whole world had changed.

And, if the world was still full of large things that might eat him, he also learned – a little – how to think and plan to escape those things – or even how to keep them from ever being a danger in the first place.

It was a lot easier with hungry cats than it was with evil queens and mad imps.

They were saying whatever had happened in town with the wraith last night was a fight between Regina and Gold. They'd had a spat, half the town had hidden from the monster hunting Regina, and, now, Billy was just trying to figure out the best way to move the most cars in the smallest amount of time.

Cats were a lot easier.

Still, even if he'd never be the guy fighting monsters, there was something to be said for hauling broken cars. It might not be heroic, but that didn't mean it didn't need doing.

Besides, he remembered how he'd helped Ashley try to escape Gold – Rumplestiltskin himself – when he hadn't even known who she was or what she'd done for him. His part in that had been small and it hadn't been heroic – Ruby was the one who'd done most of it – but he'd still been part of it.

He remembered the mice working together to stop Lucifer, the cat. There wasn't much any of them could do but, added up, all their bits of "not much" could be pretty spectacular.

Sometimes, a small part was enough.

He was musing on this when he saw Tom Rosa come staggering out of the alley near Granny's, covered in blood.

o0o0o0o

David listened as Billy told his story again.

It was the same story.

It still didn't make any sense.

According to Billy, he'd been driving along when he'd seen Rosa come staggering out the alley covered in blood – never mind that Doc said there was no way he could have staggered anywhere with the amount of blood he'd lost.

Billy had stopped and jumped out of his truck. But, when he tried to get Rosa inside it and drive him to the hospital, Rosa had said, "No, the other guys . . . in the alley . . . ."

When Billy, quite understandably, had said, "What other guys?" Rosa had said, "The guys who jumped me."

"'The guys who jumped him?' That's what he said?" David asked him again.

"It's what it sounded like," Billy said.

There had been three men in the alley. Two were known troublemakers. They were unconscious, bleeding, and their guns had found a few feet away from them.

The third man was Dr. Whale. He had stayed conscious just long enough to say his arm should be put on ice but he didn't want any attempt made to reattach it.

The arm had also been lying a few feet away.

No, Billy had no idea how it got there.

His interrogation was interrupted by Mr. Gold. "Problem, Charming?"

"It seems your friend has been beating up people in dark alleys."

"Really?" Mr. Gold looked innocently surprised. "That doesn't sound like Mr. Rosa. Are you sure?"

"There are three men in surgery because of him. One of them had his arm ripped off."

"How extraordinary. Did Mr. Rosa offer any explanation of his actions?"

"He can't," David admitted. "He's still unconscious."

"I see." Gold looked at Billy. "And you, William, isn't it? I take it you were a witness to these events?"

"Just the end of it, Mr. Gold," Billy said hastily.

"Ah, yes, the end of it. Often, the most important part. Would you care to tell about the part you witnessed, then?"

"I – I was just driving along when I saw him come out of the alley. He was covered with blood – I think he'd been knifed or something. But, the other guys were lying there, one with his arm missing. He said they jumped him."

"Ah, now, that, I admit, _does_ sound like Mr. Rosa. I'm afraid he did strike me as somewhat . . . impetuous. If the gentlemen in question jumped him, he might very well overreact. Were they armed?"

"We found guns and a knife – but, Gold, if he fought them, _he tore the arm of Dr. Whale._"

"Have you offered him your congratulations? Or are you upset that, now, you can't do it yourself?"

David gritted his teeth, wondering how Gold always seemed to know everything that was going on in the town. "Did you know your friend could rip arms off?"

"As I believe I mentioned, Mr. Rosa isn't entirely human. His main differences are in his speed and endurance when he's fighting. But, he does have his claws and, if he was fighting for his life . . . yes, I believe he would be capable of it."

Just then, one of the nurses walked in.

"Mr. Nolan? You asked me to come get you when Mr. Rosa regained consciousness? You can speak to him, now, if you'd like."

Mr. Gold broke into a beneficent smile. "There, you see? Now, you can go ask him yourself."

o0o0o0o

"Two. Questions," Rosa croaked when David came into the hospital room. "Are you sheriff and am I being charged?"

"Mr. Nolan seems to have appropriated the position," Gold said. "But, I believe you acted in self-defense?"

"Four guys," Rosa said. "Jumped me."

"You tore off one of their arms," David growled.

"Had a knife," Rosa said.

"Dr. Whale attacked you with a knife?"

Rosa's pain fogged eyes sharpened. "Doctor? That guy was a doctor?"

"Yes," Gold answered, before David could. "A surgeon. At this very hospital."

"Mills," Rosa said. "He works . . . for Mills?"

"Possibly," Gold said.

"Possibly?" David broke in. "Just yesterday, he was leading a lynch mob against her."

"Ah, yes, lynch mobs. You'll have to ask the good doctor about those. Apparently, there's a long standing tradition of angry mobs seeking revenge in his land. I suppose, with his memories coming back, he was overwhelmed by nostalgia. But, he's quite capable of helping Regina if she made him the right offer."

"Blood," Rosa said. "My blood. That's what they wanted."

"Ah," Gold said. He glanced out the window. It was already late afternoon. "Yes, that would be worth Regina's trouble."

David didn't get it. "Why? What can she do with his blood that she couldn't do with anyone else's?"

"You wouldn't remember, Charming – you were unconscious at the time – but Mr. Rosa has been through our town before. He was looking for a friend, an . . . _unusual _young woman who had come here some time before him. Like us, she was from another world. Unlike us, she still had access to magic in this world – she had some rudimentary ability to generate it herself. Regina had imprisoned her and was making use of what the girl had to offer, mainly by bleeding it out of her. Literally. I believe, when she heard Mr. Rosa had returned, she decided to see if his blood can be used the same way."

"But . . . magic's back. Why would she need Rosa's blood?"

"It's back, but Regina is still learning how to access it. She's already learned how to use Rosa's friend's blood. I doubt it will take her too long to use Rosa's, assuming she doesn't give up before then."

"Before then? What do you mean?"

Rosa answered. "Night. The magic in my blood only works at night. If she gives up before then . . . we're good. If not . . . . ."

"If not," Gold said. "We may have some difficulties to contend with."


	13. Chapter 13: Songs of Ice and Fire

The Goblins had a large hall lit by torches and moonlight where they came to hear Silver's music. Bae stood at the back of the hall, listening, since she had relented and not dragged him up to sing beside her. She sang ballads at first. Some of them her own choice, some chosen when a Goblin called out a ballad's name or simply began playing music on an instrument – there were drums, lutes, flutes, and others scattered among them. Sometimes, they accompanied her, but she always sang the main part.

She had an odd, eerie voice, like glass chimes and wind through the ice, all mixed together. But, that aside, he couldn't hear any great difference between the Goblins music and hers, though she was right: whether it was "soul" or some other quality, hers was the voice they wanted to hear.

The ballads were mostly militant, songs of war and loss. At Mehitabel's request, Silver sang a long lament for a city called Jerusalem, destroyed in a terrible siege by a people called the Romans. She followed by a ballad about a woman named Boudicca and her grisly victory over those same Romans in another land.

Then, as the song was finished, someone yelled, "Hey, Silver, the human boy, does he know any songs?"

Bae suddenly felt dozens of eyes on him. He received cheerful slaps on the back and found himself being pushed forward till he was standing by Silver. He gave her a panicked look.

Silver only grinned. "War songs, if you know them," she said.

Reluctantly, Bae sang a ballad of the Ogre wars, The Fall of the Southlands. He followed that with The Battle of Whisty Glen, then the Lament of Saro and Wulfe. The first two were at least as grisly as Mehitabel's choices, when he thought of it. They had sounded heroic when he first learned them. The Fall of the Southlands had happened after the Southlands' duke was slain. A minor Lord, Chardebert, took up the defense of the remaining free lands along the southern coast, uniting the remaining lords and war leaders under his leadership – or had till their final, brave battle.

His father had told him Zoso, the previous Dark One, had had a hand in that battle, that their own lord, the Duke of the Frontlands, had decided it served his interests better if Chardebert fell before he became a hero with a greater following than the Duke.

Bae shouldn't have chosen that ballad.

He moved on to The Battle of Whisty Glen and got through it easily enough. It was a lighter, easier song, commemorating one of the great defeats of the Ogres. There was gore aplenty in it, but very little of it was human.

But, without really thinking about it, he began to sing The Lament of Saro and Wulfe. Bae usually thought it was silly, but it had been one of Morraine's favorites, a story of lovers separated by war. Or Morraine had been sure they were lovers. The lament really only spoke vaguely of their deep and abiding love. Captain Roberts' story had made him think of it. Althought, for all Bae knew, maybe Morraine had it wrong. Maybe Saro and Wulfe were friends who had grown up together, like him and Morraine. Maybe Saro and Wulfe were brother and sister – or even parent and child (unlikely, he thought, but not _impossible_).

In the end, Saro never sees Wulfe again. He probably died fighting impossible odds, allowing her to escape into the (relative) safety of the Frontlands, but the song left that unclear. Maybe he was just cut off from her. Maybe he continued fighting in the south.

Maybe he forgot about her, Bae thought. If you hadn't seen someone for years, even if you'd loved them – even if they were family – maybe that just faded away.

He remembered the knight who'd told him his mother had _chosen_ to leave him and Papa. The man had been evil and a bully . . . but, could it be true? Had Mama left? And forgotten him?

Was there any place where they hadn't heard of the Ogre Wars? Even if Mama had left, wouldn't she have heard what was happening to them? Wouldn't she have come back or sent word or _asked_ for word to know if he and Papa were alive?

Or had she forgotten?

Would Papa forget about him if he didn't return? The way he had already forgotten what it meant to be Papa, the man he'd been before the curse fell on him?

If Bae stayed in Siri and Tom's world, if he ever met Papa again, would Papa know him? Would he be glad to see him? Or would he be angry? Would he kill Bae, the way he'd killed their servant who only _might_ have heard him discussing the dagger that carried the curse?

Bae, after all, knew far more than the servant had.

He couldn't sing anymore. He couldn't.

There were calls for more, but then Captain Roberts was there.

"The boy's done his share. Let him rest. Cat-girl, sing something else for these louts. Try the Queen of the Night's aria, if you can hit the notes." With that, he led Bae away.

"You look done in, boy," he said. "I apologize for the hospitality of my hall. I should have seen you needed rest."

"It – it wasn't –" Maybe he was tired, because there was no other reason he should feel like crying. He gritted his teeth. After all, he was old enough to go to war. He wasn't going to cry like a _child._

The captain gave him a sidelong glance as though he could read his thoughts, but only said, "You're a strong lad, but that doesn't mean you can't wear yourself out. Siri's more used to this insanity than you are and she's already collapsed."

"She was wounded."

"She's not anymore. Now, come along. You need to rest but, before that, there's something I should give you." He led Bae out of the fortress. They walked across the clearing to a small building, a sort of forge – though not like the smith's forge back home. There was no sign of iron, only the silver colored metal the Goblins' armor and weapons were made of. There were no horseshoes, and the fire burning in the forge was white and cold.

"Hold onto the knife my grandson gave you, though I hope you won't need it. I hope you won't need this, either, but it may be useful to you." There was a trough of water by the anvil, just like in the forge back home in the village – and that was odd, Bae realized. The fire was cold. Whatever was forged here, it didn't need to be cooled in water.

As if to confirm that, Captain Roberts picked up a ladle forged from black metal, not the silver most of the other things here were forged from (the anvil, Bae realized, was also black; the same, iridescent color as the Goblins' skin). He dipped the ladle in the water – if it was water. It was dark, like the pond near their home at night, reflecting back nothing. The captain poured the water on the anvil where it congealed in a large, half-sphere drop.

Then, he took his own knife and pricked his finger with its point.

He held the finger over the liquid and squeezed out the blood. For some reason, it disturbed Bae to see his blood was a deep, dark red, not quite human in color.

The liquid changed, becoming silvery and bright.

Captain Roberts gathered it up in his hands, where is shifted into a ball, then went over to the forge, holding the glob right in the heart of the cold flames.

The liquid seemed to soften. The captain began to twist and pull. It reminded Bae of his father working with the poorer kinds of wool, when the fiber needed to be worked carefully, pulled out of its clumps to be shaped into something more like thread.

The liquid sphere was being stretched into a long, slender thread.

The captain began to twist and braid it, making a ring sized circle. Then, he gathered more and twisted it around the ring. He did this again and again, pressing each new layer tight into the old one. Somehow, though each thread was absorbed, the ring never became any thicker.

Bae wondered what the fire was and how Goblins could put their hands straight into it without being hurt – shouldn't fire, even _cold_ fire hurt? But, then, he looked at Roberts' face. His mouth was in a grim, determined line and there was cold sweat all across his face.

Whatever the flame was, it wasn't painless.

Roberts reached the last bit of silver thread and pressed it in. He took the ring out of the fire, examined his handiwork, then tossed the ring up into the air like a man flipping a coin. By the time it came down again, Roberts had snatched up a pair of tongs and caught the ring with it (Goblins, besides having cat-like reflexes, liked to show off, Bae thought) and plunged it into the trough of dark water.

Roberts might not care about cold flames, but he had been very careful not to touch that water with his bare hands, Bae noticed. Not ill he had added his blood to it.

He pulled out the ring. Held one way in the light, it was silver bright; held another, it was black as the water it had come from.

Roberts nodded, satisfied.

"Put this on," he told Bae. He saw the look on Bae's face and grinned. "Don't worry, it won't hurt you." Roberts tossed it to him. Reluctantly, Bae put it on.

"What is it?" he asked.

Roberts grinned, as much like a satisfied cat as Bae suspected Silver ever was. "I've put a bit of my magic in it. Nothing too powerful, I'm afraid. While it lasts, you can do the small things I can with it: feel the coming of death, make small illusions, pass the boundaries into the Gloaming, hold the last spark of life in a dying man – that last one won't help you much, not unless there's a healer or doctor near. You can't save them or heal them yourself, not without bringing them to the Gloaming and draining out their soul on a Dark Alter. And that toy's not strong enough for that."

Bae slipped on the ring and gasped. It was icy cold.

Roberts grinned. "Bites, doesn't it? Don't worry. You'll soon grow used to it. But, let me warn you, as you use it, it will melt. The stronger the spell, the faster it goes. And it only has power by night. Come daylight, it's just a ring."

"All magic comes with a price," Bae said it as a simple fact, but Roberts heard the question lying beneath.

"Indeed. Trust me, lad, if you have to use that, I think the trouble you'll be in will be price enough already. You might as well have something to show for your grief.

"Now, come," he said, walking back towards the fortress. "Siri'll have my hide if I hand you over to her in the evening too tired to stand. That girl's a witch in more ways than one."

"She's not a Goblin," Bae said following him. "But . . . she beat three of them. They were mounted, and she was on foot. But, she still beat them. How? Was that sickle of hers magic, or is it – is she – what is she?" He didn't say words like _cursed_.

"She's my granddaughter," Roberts said, as though that were answer enough. But, seeing Bae's face, he went on. "The sickle's just a sickle, a witch's toy. Good for cutting weeds. As for Siri herself, there was spell on the land where she was born, not unlike the one that trapped this town of Stroybrooke, though Siri's was broken years ago. At the time, it kept me from getting near her or my kin when I might have been some use – not a common thing for my kind, being useful. I still can't get into Storybrooke or I'd send you with something more than a ring and a knife to protect you. Oh, and I'll warn you, boy, the borders won't open to you, either, while you're in that town. You'll need to seek the border if you want to escape here" He led Bae through the twisting, haphazard corridors, till they reached a small bedroom. "Siri thinks the spell on her home woke something in her," Roberts said, opening the door and ushering Bae in. Roberts didn't cross the threshold. Goblin manners? Like a demon in a story, having given the room to Bae, could he not enter unless invited? Or did he just not like warm, well lit spaces? "The girl's too cynical by half. I think she simply had a gift, not the most pleasant one, but how many useful things are?"

"But, what about Tom, then?" Bae asked. "He's her twin. Shouldn't he be the same?"

"Ah, a strange thing about those two. It's a long tale – too long for now – but they're not truly twins. They share the same father, the same mother, the same birth, but they're not twins. Now, get some rest, boy. Someone will come fetch you when it's time to leave."


	14. Reflections

The rest of the small company Mehitabel had led melted back into the shadows, ready to find more interesting tasks in this world or the Gloaming than stay camped outside a peaceful town they couldn't enter. But, Mehitabel stayed. The Captain had asked her to see this through to the end, if only to bring the full tale back to him when all was said and done.

So, she had a perfect view of it when the cat-girl found she couldn't enter the town either.

The two witches, being witches, couldn't just leave it at that. They discussed, they debated, they speculated. They seemed to conclude it had something to do with magic being brought back to the town on the other side of the line someone had obligingly painted right at the border and something to do with the odd rules the catling was obliged to follow about when she could enter a place she hadn't been invited to. Perhaps, they speculated, it also had something to do with the cat-girl's liege acknowledging this territory as belonging to that wizard they'd mentioned.

The talked and talked and_ talked_ about it. And they finally came to the point Mehitabel could have told them at the beginning: the cat-girl wasn't getting in.

So, Sirena got out her cell phone toy and called up her brother. Or tried to. As Mehitabel understood it, the little toys could be turned off, left behind or (rather likely, she thought) left in the car the witchling said had been blown up the night before.

She tried calling the wizard, this Mr. Gold, but the thing she called "the directory" had only listed his business number, not his home. And (surprise!) like most humans, Gold went home in the evening.

"Isn't there a sheriff or something?" Mehitabel said. "Someone who pays attention when cars blow up near the town?"

"There is," Sirena said. "Unless things have changed, he's the mayor's lackey. I'm not even going to try asking him." The girl looked deeply thoughtful for a moment, then, made up her mind. "Right. I'm going in. Bae, stay here with Silver and Mehitabel. Please."

The human child looked belligerent in the way only a fourteen year old boy – child who'd just been told to stay out of a fight by a _girl_ – a girl who was making a beeline for that fight herself – could look. Although, the "please" mollified him. A little.

"I can take care of myself," the boy child wrongly asserted.

But, Sirena only said, "I know." The girl gave him an almost Goblin-like grin. "You did really well last night. I'd have been done for if you hadn't found Mehitabel and come back for me. But, this is a town in my world. I know the rules in places like this, how to hide, how to talk my way out of trouble. I'll go in, scout around, see if I can't find out what happened to Tom, then let you know what's happening." She handed her phone toy to the cat-girl. "I'll give you a call." Mehitabel wondered if she meant to borrow or steal a phone when she did it. Steal, hopefully. That would probably be more entertaining in the long run. "If you haven't heard from me by morning, call my dad. Tell him everything. He can decide whether to get Uncle Lucian or Auntie A or whoever or whether to keep it simple and send in a SWAT team."

"What if someone else calls?"

"Take a message."

Mehitabel watched Sirena go. "She's right," she told the human boy. "She knows how to hide. And she knows a trick or two about fighting. She'll take care of herself."

The boy twisted a silver ring on his finger. "How – how did she beat three Goblins last night? On horseback?"

Silver broke in. "I wouldn't call it _horse_back. Not exactly. Though I've never learnt what Goblins call those monsters –"

"They're our mounts," Mehitabel said. "What else should we call them? And the witchling knows a trick or two. I fight with a sword. The cat-girl fights with claws and spells."

"And knives," Silver said. "And clever wits. Don't forget those."

"Well, Sirena fights with spells and knives as well. And her wits are sharp enough to cut her enemies' throats on. But, her deadliest weapon is roses. Get ready to run if she brings those out."

She could tell Bae was trying to figure out if that was a riddle or a very bad joke. "Do Goblins ever speak plainly?"

"All the time. Why? Has someone else been telling you riddles?"

"Your captain. He said Tom and Sirena had the same mother, shared the same birth. But they're not twins. What does that mean?"

"Told you that, did he? Why didn't you ask him?"

"He said to ask Siri."

"Well, then. Ask her."

Silver interrupted. She'd been studying the boy, though whether like a mouse or a stray kitten, Mehitabel wasn't sure. "In case you didn't notice, Mehitabel, Siri has left us." The girl gave Bae a weighing look. Like a kitten, Mehitabel decided. Good. Maybe she meant to teach him how to hunt mice. "Never mind, I know the answer to that riddle – and don't tell me your captain said it was Siri's tale. I'm not part of your company."

"Indeed not. We don't keep cats."

Silver grinned, not quite showing her own fangs (nothing like a Goblin's, those sugar white confections). "True enough. No one does."

Mehitabel grinned, showing her own, larger teeth. "Go ahead then. Tell him the tale. I suppose one of your people has as much right to it as the witchling."

Silver rolled her eyes, then turned her attention to Bae. "Have you ever seen the moon shining over a lake?"

Bae blinked, obviously not sure what this had to do with Tom and Siri. "Yes, of course."

"Good enough. Now, imagine that the moon was a magic lamp. It made a mistake and let out all its moonbeams at once. But, this was all right, because those moonbeams fell in the lake, which created a mirror image of the moon. All those moonbeams were reflected back so they bounced off the moon and back to the lake again. Back and forth, back and forth. The moon will stay lighting up the sky. But, only so long as it can see the lake. Cast a cloud between them, and both go dark forever. Understand?"

"That's not – the moon isn't like that. _Light's_ not like that –"

"Have a little imagination. And light can be like that – though I'll save tricks with mirrors and bouncing lasers for some other day. The moon, you see, is caught in a trap. The moment it breaks the reflection, all the light is gone.

"Now, that's something like a trap my Lord Lucian fell into ages and ages back. He was tricked into powering the trap himself – it sounds foolish, I know, though my lord is far from foolish. Still, even the wisest may fall, eh? There was a town – rather like this one, really. Part of this very world. But not part of it, too. And the town was split in two. Two reflections, two perfect mirrors. Or not so perfect, for one was the dark shadow of the other.

"But, you see, if my lord broke the spell, if he took his power back, both would be shattered. Perhaps even my lord would not have survived. And, while the spell lasted, this world bounced about in its own little bubble, shielded from the outside by the contradiction within."

Bae frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It's a simple rule. If I take a fish out of water and put it on land, it gasps for air and dies. If I throw _you_ under water, you drown. Worlds are like that, too. Change them too much, make one water to the other's air, and they become separate things, shielded from each other, fish to the other's fowl." She sighed. "I'm sorry. I explain it like a witch, and the way we see the world . . . isn't quite how everyone else sees the world.

"Just believe me. It formed the heart of a spell that kept others from finding this world who might have helped him.

"My lord figured out the riddle in the end, more or less – though that's another tale – and the real world and the shadow were merged back into each other again.

"But, here's the thing. Everyone in the shadow town had a counterpart in the other. And all those shadows merged back into their daylight selves. With one exception.

"In one world, a boy was born and named Thomas. In the other, a girl was born and named Sirena. There was a catch, too, because there couldn't be more lives in the joined worlds than there had been to start with. But, Tom and Siri's mother was uniquely placed to see the truth, to realize she had two children, not one – and to realize her life could save her daughter's. Parents are like that, you know.

"Tom and Siri had an _awful_ time getting along when that curse was broken," Silver added. "They were both of them only children. Giving them memories that said the other one had always been there didn't teach them how to be something different. Still, they got it in the end.

"But, Siri's always been the cynical one where Tom's the optimist. And her magic – Goblin magic – is rooted in shadows. She never does quite trust herself. Still, she's a good one to have beside you in a fight, if you don't mind that she fights dirty."

"That's a virtue where I come from," Mehitabel said.

"Remind me to tell you how your people lost to the English."

"No need, girl. I saw the dead myself. And the not quite dead, too. Pity, that. They were my kin. I should have left them to their rest. Well, I didn't even remember myself, not then."

"I'm sure you –" She was interrupted from whatever witticism she'd meant to attempt by the phone playing its little song.

_Do you ever feel,  
like you were meant to fly  
Somewhere far away  
From ordinary life?  
Do you ever feel  
like no one seems to know  
Your love for dragons or  
Dressing up in cloaks_

How oddly appropriate. Or not so oddly. Mehitabel wondered if it was a witchling's gift that made Sirena pick that one or did she actually like it?

Or it was just her idea of a joke?

Silver answered it. "Yes?" A pause. "Tom, how are you? What's happened?

"What? No, Siri asked me to hold it. I met her in the Gloaming, and –" She rolled her eyes at whatever Tom said. "Because my lady sent me. Why else? Listen, we've got Bae, here, and –

"Wait, what? Gold is Rumplestiltskin? Well, no wonder he goes by Mr. Gold. What does that have to do with – Hey, Bae, wait!"

But, the boy was already running across the border.


	15. Death and How to Find It

Bae heard Silver calling after him to come back and ignored her. Then he heard Mehitabel.

No pleas to come back from her. Her voice was calm and practical.

"Remember, boy, keep to the shadows! And don't leave yourself open when you stab someone!"

He wondered what his father would think of Mehitabel.

His father.

The wizard Tom had been trying to get him to was his father.

Tom hadn't said anything about him not being human.

But, then, Tom hadn't said anything about him and his sister not being human either. Or half his family being Goblins. Or his friend Silver being a cat. Or a witch. Or whatever she was.

Bae had a feeling things like that slipped Tom's mind.

Then, he remembered the ring Captain Roberts had given him. He made his hand into a fist, trying to feel his way into making a spell. Or whatever Goblins did.

Feel the coming of death.

He tried to picture that, not sure if he would even recognize the feeling when it came –

_Papa_.

He saw his father.

Only, it wasn't his father. Not the way he'd last seen him.

He was human again. But not the Papa Bae remembered. There was coldness in his face that wasn't like Papa before he was cursed – but it wasn't like him after the curse, either. His clothes were strange, finely made, _silk_, not linen or wool. Bae didn't think even the Duke had clothes as fine.

And there were two women. One had maple brown hair. She was lying on the ground, blue eyes staring blankly at the night sky.

She was dead.

There was blood on his father's hands.

The other woman reminded him a little of Siri, with her jet black hair and eyes and her alabaster skin. She had a cruel, triumphant smile.

She was holding the dagger – his father's dagger – and driving it through his heart.

The vision vanished.

Bae stopped. He felt drops of ice water on the palm of his hand. The ring seemed about the same size, but he must have lost some of it.

Death.

_Approaching_ death.

It hadn't happened yet – _couldn't_ have happened yet.

There was a feeling left by what he'd seen, he realized. It felt – it felt like the time he had stood up on a hill during the spring floods and seen debris blocking the stream while the water rose higher behind it.

Then, he'd seen the debris swept aside and the flood come crashing down after.

That time, there'd been no real harm done. This had been miles away from the town. The water had crashed into the small pond where the shepherds would be bringing the sheep for the shearing, to wash the wool while the sheep grazed, but no one was there now.

But, the memory burned in Bae's mind, the building force, the crash as it swept everything opposing it away.

It felt the same. He could feel death building. Soon, it would strike.

But, it hadn't. Not yet.

Bae ran.

X

Regina smiled as the sun set.

She had almost forgotten the annoying Mr. Rosa – _had_ forgotten him until the curse had broken – and she was going to dearly enjoy forcing Gold into telling her how he'd managed _that. _

But not if it got in the way of killing him.

He had been so . . . _uncooperative_ when she'd asked him for help – such a very little bit of help, too, just a little something so she could cast spells again, now magic was back. She'd even threatened him, pointing out how much trouble it might cause if people _knew_ their home was still there – and that Mr. Gold was at least as responsible as she was for their not going back.

But, Gold had simply sneered at her. He had other things to worry about, he told her. Even finding out his _please_ no longer affected her hadn't left him nonplussed for more than a moment or two.

"So, that bit of magic doesn't work anymore, does it? Too bad, dearie, it would be annoying to all of us if I had to resort to some other magic that does. Before I do that, I suggest you leave. _Please._"

And, Regina, seeing the look in his eyes, had fled.

He'd told her he wasn't going to kill her. He'd promised that little slave of his, Belle. Regina still didn't know how he'd found her. Something he'd built into the curse? An extra bit of magic telling him everything he needed to know about this new Storybrooke now that magic was restored?

Or had he known all along and just been playing with her?

She remembered when she and Swan had had to go for him for help to save Henry – and he had been ready for them.

Had been ready, his pieces set in place, for twenty-eight years.

She remembered him sitting in his cell after beating Moe French within an inch of his life, bargaining with her for the return of his one little memento of the girl she'd told him had died a lifetime ago. She'd been so thrilled at beating him for once, knowing he didn't even suspect the card she still held hidden away, the supposedly dead girl herself (and she would die, Regina had told herself, at some moment when she needed Rumplestiltskin at his weakest, when she would hand over his lover's corpse).

He had warned her then. This changed nothing between them, he said. He was still the one with the power.

She had smirked, thinking he didn't know how wrong he was.

But, Rumplestiltskin prided himself on never lying.

Had he known about the girl even then?

Had he been content to wait all those years just to snatch her pawn away at the last moment?

Well, he would pay for it now.

He wouldn't have seen this coming.

That white haired girl, whatever she was, had been a source of magic – difficult magic, tricky to use, every spell she'd tried to cast with the bits and pieces she'd taken from her trying to reshape itself into ice and moonlight.

But, Mr. Rosa had left a single strand of hair behind when he had rescued his lady love (if she was a lady, which Regina doubted).

It hadn't been much, just enough for Regina to get an idea what his own flesh and blood might be good for if she wove it into her spells. The white haired girl would have been infinitely more useful.

But, she had seen a special use for Mr. Rosa's blood all the same.

Whale had been amenable once she told him his own world still existed and, yes, she knew how to find the way back (that that way involved using a currently torn and useless hat was something she saw no reason to explain to him). Pity, Mt. Rose had hurt him so badly, along with two of the other men she'd sent.

But, one, Mr. Crow (an old servant of Maleficent's) had made it back, along with a cloth well soaked with Rosa's blood (Whale had meant to put a needle in him and fill up a few blood donation sacks, but what Crow had given her should be enough).

She didn't understand what Mr. Rosa was or all the vagaries of his odd magic, but she knew this blood could be used to show her the one thing she needed: death.

Gold's death.

She'd learned the heart of it years ago, even if she'd never learned the secret of _how_.

There was one way to kill Gold. Not just kill him but steal his powers as he died.

She took the blood soaked cloth, knowing, unlike the other spells she'd tried since magic's return, this one would work.

_Show me,_ she told it, _show me how to finish off that back stabbing imp. Show me how to make him suffer, to take everything he has. Show me where to find the secret of his death._


	16. Shadows in the Night

_Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. This one turned into a monster and may need careful editing and a rewrite later. But, for now, enjoy._

_Uh, and reviews are __**always **__welcome._

The knife.

A bit of digging, that was all it had taken in the end.

And, now, it was in her hand.

Regina smiled. Which would be better? To kill the old master who had always relished saying she would never get the better of him? Or to drag things out? To make him slave and work for her?

Perhaps a bit of both.

There was no reason to rush things, after all. She thought of her dead father and how his heart had beat in her hand before she killed him. She thought of how Rumplestiltskin had marked her hand before sending that demon of his to suck her soul.

She would make him pay, she decided, and not just with his life. It was time for him to offer her the heart of the thing he loved most.

Still smiling, she walked towards Rumplestiltskin's house.

X

The important thing when breaking out, Tom had learned, was not to get cocky.

Well, the really important thing was to not get caught.

And to break out.

Nobody tried to catch you so long as you were in your cell, after all, and sitting around feeling helpless was about as anti-cocky as it got; there just wasn't much point to it . . . .

And staying focused. That was probably important, too.

He'd slept through most of the day, partly because it seemed like a good idea, mostly because they'd drugged him.

But, now it was time to be moving on.

First, get past the guards on his door.

Tom assumed they were there to protect him and to stop anyone else from getting his blood. He knew, from his last trip, one of them was called Leroy and the other was Walter. Currently, they were known as Grumpy and Sleepy.

And he'd always thought Sirena drew the short stick when it came to names.

Normally, if he hadn't had a knife stuck in him, he'd climb out the window. The wound would still probably close before morning – it's what Goblin wounds did – but he didn't feel up to it now.

But, they didn't know that, did they?

He also knew how to work quietly and not attract attention. Even when there were guards watching the door.

Then, when he had everything ready, it was time to get them to look. He made the right noises, and Grumpy and Sleepy looked in to see what it was that had sounded like something thumping just outside the window. Then, they rushed inside.

They saw the scene Tom had made for them, the empty bed, the open window, and the sheets carefully tied together as ropes hanging out the window. They quickly drew the conclusions Tom had hoped they would and rushed out, raising the alarm.

He hoped it would be a while till they noticed the sheets stopped way short of the pavement, not that Tom would have broken anything on a little fall like that. Even a normal human might not have if he knew how to land properly.

The most important thing, though, was for Grumpy and Sleepy not to notice the shadow in the corner of the room watching them.

Tom waited till Dwarf One and Dwarf Two had run off, before dropping the shadow illusion for another. People – especially ones who had reason to worry about magic and curses – tended to notice shadows walking along brightly lit corridors when there was nothing to cast them.

But, an orderly in scrubs? Who was going to notice that?

Well, anyone who knew who was supposed to be on shift and where, today. But, Tom did his best to look boring and unobtrusive till he reached the doctors' locker room. He found one with Dr. Whale's name on it.

Hey, it wasn't like the man didn't owe him.

Not even locked.

As expected, the good doctor kept an extra set of clothes – no doubt for those days when the blood and splatter was a little too much for the scrubs and white coat.

The fit wasn't _too_ bad. Tom was taller but leaner. A little tightening of the belt, and he supposed they passed muster (he didn't _need_ the clothes, not at night when he could keep illusions going, but that hospital gown was drafty). Although he had to check a few other lockers before he found a pair of boots that fit.

He also found a cell phone.

He called Siri (who, probably just to annoy him, had the song _Firebolt_ as her ringtone).

But, it was Silver who picked up.

Silver told him how Siri (who, honestly, had even less common sense than he did) was on her way to help. But, it was all right since she and Mehitabel had Bae.

Poor Bae.

And, Bae really needed to know before he came into the town and found out the hard way.

Tom started to explain to Silver, about who Gold really was.

And Silver, who was usually so sensible, repeated what he said. Only with more exclamation points.

He heard her shout something at Bae.

And, then, the phone went dead.

X

Finding Tom was never hard for Siri.

Sometimes, she used simple, down to earth techniques – like tapping his GPS or bugging his motorcycle.

Not too often, though. In fact, she went out of her way to build up the security on those. After all, you never knew when not being traceable would be a good thing (well, you did, actually. In their case, the answer was "fairly often" or even "nearly always").

Mostly, she just knew where she was likely to find him.

Like right now. She'd last seen him near an exploding car fighting an undead demon.

That made the morgue and the hospital her best bets.

And, if he was in the morgue, it wasn't like she needed to rush to find him (unless he turned into something of the undead and hungry variety. But, in that case, finding him wouldn't be at the top of her problems).

She found him as he was walking out in really badly fitting clothes and looking panicked (he had a small illusion over them, but since when did those fool her?).

She kept her voice low, trusting in those remarkably sharp ears of his.

"Hey."

Tom's head snapped towards her. He headed over.

"So," Siri asked. "What's gone wrong now?"

"Gold is Bae's dad. Bae knows. He heard me talking to Silver on your phone. Which isn't working – might be something magic but, knowing Silver, she probably just broke it. It sounded like Bae ran across the border before Silver could stop him. Oh, and I got mugged by four of the queen's flunkies. She has my blood. I think she means to use it to do magic the way she used Silver's."

". . . . Oh.

"So, uh, I don't suppose you have a plan?"

X

He was looking at his father's murderer.

He didn't know that. He _knew_ he didn't know that. The vision he'd been shown was something he didn't understand except that it was magic – and magic always came with a price, a price it was anxious to make you pay.

But he knew.

Reaching the town, he had tried had lost his way. Such an impossibly thing, it would seem, being lost in this town where light washed the streets despite the night sky above him. Lamps lined the stone walkways, more light poured from every house, even the cars – as if it were not bright enough for them – poured more light into the night.

He hid in the shadows as they went past, hoping not to be seen.

And that was what he had been doing, hiding, when he saw the killer.

With her blood red smile and pale face, she seemed more like some evil ghost or undead ghoul wandering the night, but she was a living woman. He followed her, keeping to the shadows, till she reached a large house.

In his village, the wood in houses was stained or weathered. No one painted it bright colors, like the buildings he'd seen here. The one the killer approached was the same color as the meat of the salmon he'd sometimes caught in the river when they swam up from the sea.

At first, he thought it was her house as, hiding in the shadows, he watched her select a key from a large ring she pulled out of her purse.

But, she looked around before opening it, as though checking for anyone watching her. Then, when she went inside, there was something else – something wrong. It took him a moment to recognize what bothered him.

There was no light coming from the house itself except from a small lamp perched by the door. There'd been no light conjured up inside as she entered. The windows remained dark and lifeless. In this world that was drowning in light – drowning in such thick waves of it that he'd almost given up on Mehitabel's advice to stay hidden from it – this woman chose to remain in darkness.

He scampered up to the door. She'd closed it behind her but she hadn't locked it, opening easily for him when he tried it.

The room it opened on was dark. He thought he could make out thick curtains hanging by the windows and glints off of glass – metal – he couldn't be sure what. But, there was a light towards the back, from another room. Walking as quietly as he could, Tom's dagger tight in his grasp, he went towards it.

Not directly towards it, of course. He stayed out of the column of light that cut across the polished, wooden floor. He smelled onions and the rich smell of meat cooking. A kitchen, then.

Cautiously, pressed against a wall, he peered around the doorway, trying to ignore the feeling that he was wasting time, that the death he had seen was coming closer with each passing second. There was a woman inside. He thought she might be standing by this world's version of a stove. He'd never seen one, of course. In his village, cooking was done over the fire in the hearth, but he'd heard stories of the Duke's palace. This woman stood by a sort of counter. In front of her, a ring of blue flames rose from it beneath a metal pot. She was cutting vegetables and adding them to it.

Her hair fell in a long, loose tumble of maple brown.

The same color as the hair of the dead woman he'd seen in his vision.

The killer came up behind her.

"Hello, Belle."

The maple haired woman whirled, her face pale with fear. The knife she'd been using was gripped tight in her hand.

The killer only smiled at her. "Is Rumplestiltskin at home?" she asked pleasantly.

The blood had drained from the other woman's face. "Regina," she whispered.

"Oh, so you remember me, now, Belle? Being out of the hospital seems to have helped you, after all. If you remember me, then you ought to know that _that_ –" She waved her hand. Something red flicked off her fingers, and the knife went flying out of the maple haired woman's fist. "– is useless against me."

A witch.

Bae had been ready to run at the killer, Regina, and attack her. Now, he hesitated.

He was pretty sure he would only get one chance.

And he _had_ to get it right.

If he didn't, Papa, this woman – Belle – Bae, and who knew who else would be dead before this night was over.

"Do you know what this is?" Regina said, holding up his father's dagger so Belle could see the writing on the blade. "It's a little keepsake of your lover."

Her _what? _

_What_ had that woman said?

Bae shook his head, trying to clear it. Witches were crazy. Everyone knew that. Papa, even though he still knew what was real and what wasn't, thought like a madman.

Belle's eyes grew large. She might not be . . . what Regina said, but she understood something about the dagger.

"Jones," she whispered.

"What? Oh, yes, this would be the weapon Killian Jones was looking for, the only blade that can kill the Dark One. But it can do more than that, it can control him. Would you like to see?"

"I –"

"On second thought, keep quiet," Regina said. She waved her hand. There was another drop of red.

Of blood, Bae realized.

Belle fell silent, unable to speak.

Regina held up the blade, her smile as a predatory as a hungry shark's when refuse was being thrown into the bay. "Dark One – Rumplestiltskin – I summon thee–"

There wasn't time, Bae realized. No time to think, no time to plan. There was only one thing he could do.

So he did it.

Gripping the ring tight, he remembered what Captain Roberts had told him.

Goblin magic.

He thought of the image he'd seen of his father, the strange clothes and the human face. He _willed_ it to be real.

And, hoping it worked, he stepped into the room.

"Really, dearie," Bae said, trying to imitate his father. "If you'd wanted to talk, you might have just asked."

X

_No._

Rumplestiltskin felt the pull of the dagger.

_Regina, _he thought.

Since Mr. Rosa had landed himself in the hospital, Rumplestiltskin had been looking for her. Finally, he'd gone to the queen's house, tearing off a piece of gauzy curtain from a window near the door.

With a bit of potion put on it, it came to life and began floating away.

"Slow down," Rumplestiltskin ordered it. "Get in your car, your highness. We need to follow it."

But, Regina had played her cards wisely.

Of all the people in Storybrooke, she was the one whose memories in the cursed town had been exactly the same as her memories in the town once it was freed.

She had run for the border.

"Good riddance," the shepherd prince said.

"If only," Rumplestiltskin told him, frowing. "Regina never had a false life, here. She'll be the same person on the other side that she was on this one. Mr. Rosa's blood won't do her any good till sunset. After that, she'll be back.

"You should put a guard on Mr. Rosa," he added. "I don't know how much Regina got, but she'll probably want more."

He'd gone to ready what defenses and spells he thought would be most useful – and, of course, he'd warned Belle. He hadn't told her all of it. He'd seen how she'd shaken in her nightmares last night, held her and tried to calm her as she woke screaming.

Regina was behind all of it.

He hadn't wanted to make it worse. But, he hadn't wanted Belle wandering around where Regina could get her, either.

The house was safe, alive with wards and protective charms, now that magic was back.

Wards cast with the Dark One's magic, ward's that were meaningless to anyone carrying the Dark One's dagger.

The dagger Regina had found.

The dagger that summoned him to his own home.

Where he saw Regina smiling triumphantly as she faced him.

Except . . . it wasn't him she was facing.

He'd learned the day he summoned Zoso the dagger's orders could be twisted. A little.

Maybe even enough.

Zoso had done it by coming when summoned, then standing where he couldn't be seen.

And by mocking Rumplestiltskin's stuttering attempts to command him.

Rumplestiltskin had done the same, appearing behind Regina, doubting such a simple trick would buy him more than a few seconds of time.

He could only hope those seconds might make a difference.

Instead, Regina wasn't even looking for him. Another man, Rumple's twin right down to the clothes he wore, was already there. Belle hadn't seen him either, her eyes fixed on the other man.

"Really, dearie," the man drawled. "If you'd wanted to talk, you might have just asked."

Regina smiled. There had to be snakes somewhere in her family tree, Rumplestiltskin thought. "But, I don't want to talk. I want to give orders and, for once, have you do exactly what you're told. To begin with, Rumplestiltskin, you will stay _exactly_ where you are."

Rumplestiltskin froze. He had been unable to attack her, before. Now, he was unable to even move out of sight if she turned and looked at him.

But, she didn't know to turn and look.

"You tried to kill me, sending that wraith," Regina went on. "I think I deserve a little compensation, don't you?"

"What I think you _deserve_, dearie, is something we'll all be better off with me not saying. Not in front of the ladies. Pardon me, in front of the _lady_."

Rumplestiltskin wrapped himself in shadows, trying to keep hidden. But, he couldn't strike against her, not magically, not physically, not while she held the dagger.

And his doppelganger, whoever he was, could see him clearly. The man did nothing Regina could pick up on, but Rumplestiltskin had centuries experience watching for the small tells of his opponents. He could see it in every flickering glance the man carefully didn't direct at him.

His double was still talking to Regina. He dramatically rolled his eyes. "Really, _dearie_, you've always been an idiot, but don't you think you're going too far? You don't even know how to use that little toy you're holding."

There was doubt in Regina's eyes. Her opponent was good at sounding sure of himself. But, then her eyes widened.

"And you're walking without your cane, Rumple."

X

Bae tried to imitate the way his father too often spoke these days, adding in bits of Siri's snideness and bits of Goblin madness, hoping he was doing it right.

Apparently, he was. The thing the witch focused on had nothing to do with his words.

He rolled his eyes the way Siri had when Tom had criticized her plans. "Because I got tired of walking with it. The same way I'm growing very tired of you, Regina." That had been her name, hadn't it? "Now, why don't you return my property and leave. Immediately. I promise not to use your corpse for fertilizer you if you do. If not, the flowers have been drooping."

"Such generosity. It's so unlike you, Rumple."

"True enough, but your posturing has been the best laugh I've had since coming here. Consider this your reward."

The witch smirked. "I appreciate your attempts to brazen it out, but it won't work. You're going to do what I tell you, starting with killing that woman."

Bae swallowed, risking a glance at the still mute woman who had gone even paler. He wondered if he could stretch the illusion to cover himself and her, making it look as though she were dead. After making it look as though he had killed her.

He wondered how he could even get her to understand she was supposed to lie down and play dead _while_ he 'killed' her . . . .

And he saw his father standing behind Regina, helpless to stop her.

He had seen him freeze when Regina ordered him using his father's name, but she hadn't used it when she told him to kill. So long as she didn't use his father's name, Papa wouldn't have to obey her. But how long before she said it? He _had_ to get the dagger away from her.

But how?

And how quickly could he do it? He felt ice water dripping down his hand. How much longer till the ring and its magic vanished?

An idea came to Bae.

He laughed and stepped towards her.

"It seems you've been misinformed about that little blade's properties, Regina."

The woman's brow furrowed. He'd refused one command – to kill Belle – and broken the other (if it still applied) to stay still. "I hold the dagger. You have to –"

He cut her off quickly. "Oh, no, Regina. I don't _have_ to do anything. I can't attack you, it's true. But, that's all. Let me guess. You found Zoso's notes on the dagger, didn't you?" Had Zoso left notes? Had she even _heard_ of Zoso? Never mind. Keep talking and let her make her own assumptions. "He thought it was . . . useful . . . to let anyone who might get the dagger believe it could enslave the Dark One. But, it can't."

Bae let that sink in, grinning and trying to think what lie to say next. He had one great advantage, here. _He_ wasn't under any curse. _He _could tell whatever stories he liked about that bloody, cursed dagger.

"All it does is protect you from my magic," he told her. "There's only one way it will let you _use_ that magic, and I don't think you've figured that out, yet, have you?" He came closer to her. Tom's knife was hidden inside the sleeve of the voluminous Red Sox sweatshirt he'd given Bae – or under the silk coat he _seemed_ to be wearing. There were two ways this could turn out. He'd either get close enough to use it before she could cast a spell to stop him, or –

"One way," Regina murmured. "But, you had to come when I called you, didn't you?"

"I came when you broke into my house."

"And you want it back. You'll do anything to get it back."

"Hardly."

"I think the dagger does have powers, Rumple. At least, one. The most important one," she said and lifted it up.

The other woman, Belle, threw the pot of hot onions, oil, and meat at the witch. Regina screamed, waving a hand at the other woman and knocking her into the wall. She crumpled and fell, not getting up.

Bae rushed at the witch, still keeping the knife hidden even while he aimed. _Strike up from beneath the breastbone, _a returning soldier – one who'd fought men as well as monsters – had told him once. _Avoid the bones as you go for the heart._

The man was drunk most of the time, though the village boys had loved his stories. Bae could only hope he'd known what he was talking about.

But, Regina was faster.

_Of course_, Bae thought as the dagger went in his heart. He knew she was a killer when he saw her. She must have done this plenty of times before.

She struck straight between the ribs. Years of practice must make it easy to avoid the bones.

X

Triumphantly, Regina thrust the dagger into Rumplestiltskin's heart.

_So, do you still believe I'll never get the better of you, old man? s_he thought as she watched him fall.

He looked up at her, his face twisted in a strange, sick smile.

She knew that smile.

It was the one he always had outwitted her again.

When he had won.

Then, the window burst open and a wave of black tentacles rushed towards her.

X

Rumplestiltskin had once told his deranged protégé when she was raging at some lesser hero's unexpected escape from one of her plots, that there was nothing like raw terror for focusing the mind. In that case, the young archer had suddenly realized Regina's pet minotaur _did_ have a vulnerable spot – and where that spot had to be.

In this case, Regina realized the few drops of Mr. Rosa's blood she had left couldn't save her.

She had always been exceptionally good with fire. She had an affinity for it, the element of wanton destruction.

Faced with what must have looked like another wraith – this one in the form of a kraken – attacking her, Regina suddenly found the way to shape at least one spell out of the magic Rumplestiltskin had let loose in this world. The black vines reaching for her went up in flames.

As they faded, Rumplestiltskin caught a glimpse of the true attacker. A young woman – a girl, really – was climbing through the window. She had jet black curls and alabaster skin along with a host of small, budding vines already swarming out of her.

She also looked a great deal like her photo on the Rosa family's company website, which he had read over carefully (along with several, less public reports) back when Mr. Rosa had first come to town.

Unless he was gravely mistaken, this was Mr. Rosa's 'twin,' the shadowborn witch, Sirena Rosa.

There was a sheen of cold sweat over her already pale face and her breathing was ragged. Like Regina's flames, the black vines were a magic she had a natural affinity towards. Unlike Regina, they were part of her. Regina's fire had hurt her. Not as much, Rumplestiltskin thought, as if the flames had reached the girl herself.

But, bad enough.

The smart thing would be to retreat, to throw up a shadow wall of the things and escape back into the darkness, breaking street lamps along her way.

Apparently, despite the impressive list of degrees and accomplishments the website had listed, Miss Rosa was as incapable of intelligent action as her brother. She took a deep breath and sent black vines shooting back at Regina, who only smiled and began to conjure flame –

_Dark One . . . ._

The voice was a whisper, too faint to be heard except through the magic that bound Rumplestiltskin to the dagger.

_Rumplestiltskin . . . ._

Rumplestiltskin looked at the man lying crumpled on his kitchen floor, his blood spreading across the tiles towards Belle who still lay unconscious (_Please,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, _let her only be unconscious_). He saw the man's lips moving, bloody hands locked around the dagger's hilt.

_I summon thee . . . ._

Rumplestiltskin found himself free to move – _forced_ to move.

He approached this new master, waiting for his command. To heal him, most likely. He tried to think how he could twist whatever words he might say to free himself.

The dying man looked him in the eye.

_Take . . . back . . . what is yours . . . ._

Rumplestiltskin, forced to obey, reached for the knife, pulling it out.

The dying man smiled. Then, his eyes slid closed.

For a moment, the illusion around him held.

Then, it vanished. Rumplestiltskin saw his son, Bae.


	17. Final Round

The first thing Tom and Siri did after leaving the hospital was steal a motorcycle.

"Trying to get back in the hospital?" Siri said when Tom pointed it out to her. What was it about guys and vehicles designed to crush your head and make you an organ donor? All the same, she let loose a small bit of shadow from her finger into the ignition and turned it while Tom got on and evaluated it in the way only a lunatic who thought motorcycles were great could.

"Just put on a helmet," Siri said. At least the owner (someone named August Booth) had been thoughtful enough to leave two helmets, she thought, as she put her own on. Then, she sat behind Tom and tried not to think about how the laws of physics were in favor of weeding anyone dumb enough to ride one of these out of the gene pool as they sped to Gold's house.

They arrived alive. Siri tried to hide her surprise and get the shaking under control as she got off. Tom hesitated, as if he were gathering his strength.

That was when she saw the stains on his shirt.

"The wound reopened," she said, checking it. She bit her lip. "That's a _lot_ of blood. You've got to –"

But, Tom shook his head, grimacing. "Not the wound. Not just the wound." He winced and took a gasping breath. "Magic."

Magic.

Tom and Silver had told her what the witch had done, how she'd used Silver. Or pieces of her.

But, Silver was a witch with the blood of a familiar. Like Siri, she might have particular talents for _how_ she used magic – Siri's biggest weakness was that, outside of the shadow vines, there wasn't much she could conjure without careful preparation – but Silver was versatile. Familiars, after all, were really just magic power batteries. They stored it up in a raw form for others to use.

Or, in Silver's dad's case, gain human intelligence, live a few centuries, learn how to turn into a much larger cat, and eventually make a deal with Auntie A to allow him to turn human (sort of) so he could marry Silver's mom and have Silver.

But, Tom was a Goblin (more or less). His magic was specific in nature.

If the witch was using his blood to do spells Tom couldn't do . . . . It would be like having to get a truck up and going all to deliver one letter, she thought, burning up a huge amount of energy and move a couple thousand pounds of steel all to move a half ounce of paper that comes with it. Only, the energy in this case was Tom's life.

_I'm going to kill her,_ Siri thought.

"Stay here," she told him. "I'll get her. We'll make a bookend out of her scalp." _Assuming there's enough of it left when I'm done with her._

Things were bad enough Tom didn't argue with her. Siri swallowed and tried to focus.

She could feel the tug of Tom's blood. They'd come to the right place. She thought it was coming towards the back.

All right, then. Go around. Try to scout things out. Do not rush in like a suicidal, little lemming the way some people she could mention (Mehitabel, Tom, Grandfather) would.

The street lights didn't reach to the backyard, but Siri had good night vision and picked her way through the darkness easily enough.

There were people inside the kitchen.

The windows were open and she was able to see the surreal tableau, Regina with Gold standing behind her and Gold standing in front of her – only it wasn't Gold.

There were strong illusions in the world and weak ones. The Goblin sort were weak. There were a thousand ways of seeing through them. They didn't reflect in mirrors or water. They didn't even hold up by light of day.

And any Goblin – or part Goblin witch – could see through them.

Bae was facing Regina – mocking her, from the look of things.

And Regina thought he was Rumplestiltskin.

So, why wasn't Rumplestiltskin taking advantage of her mistake to take her head off or something? He wasn't moving a muscle.

Then, Regina drove a knife into Bae's chest, and Siri decided to attack first and figure it out later.

X

The first twinge had hit before Tom was out the hospital doors, but he'd ignored it, even though he knew what was causing it. A searching spell, maybe. It gave him a moment of cold nausea, but it was close enough to his own gut feelings. It felt draining. It didn't feel _wrong._

Then, he'd felt something cold twisting his guts as they neared Gold's house. His blood had felt strange and hot against his cold skin.

_Iron,_ he thought. _Steel._

Cold iron didn't chase him off the way it would a fairy or some their kin, but his magic wasn't made to work with it, either.

Only, now it was. Now, it was wrapping itself around iron forged into a shape to cut, to kill, holding it. For some reason, he imagined a kitchen knife, the sort used to cut vegetables, being forced out of the hand of a young woman with maple brown hair.

Knowing Siri was just waiting for him to crash the bike, he kept his mind focused. No pulling over to the side of the road, no wiping out, no throwing up on the passengers.

Besides, if Regina was making her move, they didn't have time to waste.

_Focus,_ he told himself.

Siri, thank several saints Tom intended to burn candles for as soon as he got home (assuming he made it through this), took it in quickly and set off on her own.

She didn't see him wince as another spell was cast.

_Silence._

Silence and Goblin nature. Now, _there_ was a contradiction.

He was shaking.

If he stayed here, he thought, he'd die. Whatever was happening, whatever Siri tried, he wasn't sure he had time.

Besides, his gut told him to get moving.

He pulled himself off the bike and began forcing himself up the steps to the house.

Dark.

The house was dark.

_Strange_, Tom thought as he made his way through the front room. Why would it be dark?

He thought about looking for the front light but didn't bother. Too much effort he couldn't spare.

People who froze to death made stupid mistakes, he remembered. There'd been a story about a man, one who knew all about surviving in the wild. He was found frozen to death, matches in his pocket, sitting with his back against a dry pine that would have provided fuel if he'd just thought of using it . . . .

Pine. Why was he thinking about pine? His guts felt like ice was shifting inside them. He had to keep moving . . . .

He got to the kitchen door in time to see Gold leaning over Gold lying on his kitchen floor, a knife in his chest.

_Is that real?_

There was something wrong with it. He struggled to think what.

_No, wait, one of them's not Gold. Is he?_

The images swam. Yes, the Gold on the floor was someone else, dark haired, smaller. Tom couldn't see his face. He had a feeling he should be able to figure this out . . . .

Gold pulled the knife out of the other Gold's chest.

_That's wrong_, Tom thought. _You don't want to pull it out of the wound. It'll bleed out. If he's not dead, that'll kill him._

_Bae, _he realized. _That's Bae._

It was getting hard to stand.

He could see something, a darkness wrapping around the smaller Gold (_no, Bae, that's Bae. Isn't it?_).

_Darkness._

He felt darkness inside him.

_Emptying out. Almost gone._

He gathered some of that darkness. Or imagined gathering it.

_Is this real?_

It touched the darkness around Bae.

_The same,_ he thought. _It's the same._

It wrapped around him.

Standing hurt. He couldn't do it any longer.

But, he wasn't standing. He was slumped to the floor.

_When did that happen?_

_And why didn't it help?_

He had a picture of himself as he tried to push out more of that darkness (_why? What am I doing?_). He was lying in a damp pool, darkness lying like a puddle of black ink spilling out of him, like blood from open veins.

_Dying,_ he realized. _I'm dying. _

_Dad'll kill me._

X

_Bae_.

Rumplestiltskin stared at the son he sought for so long, through the centuries and across countless worlds.

Bae's eyes were closed. He wasn't breathing.

He had ordered Rumplestiltskin – commanded him by the power of the Dark One's dagger – to pull the weapon out of his chest.

Had he realized – had he _understood_ it would kill him? That he was making his own father take his life?

_No._

_No, Bae, my beautiful boy. I wanted to save you. I worked for lifetimes to save you. Don't die on me, now. Please, please, don't be dead._

He reached out, a purple haze gathering around his hand, closing the wound, mending the boy's torn veins and heart.

Nothing happened. He didn't stir. He didn't breathe. His heart remained unbeating and still.

No.

_No._

Siri and Regina continued their fight. Glass rained down and fixtures shattered. He ignored them, wanting to howl, wanting to scream.

Instead, he turned to Belle.

He half-expected to find her dead, too, her life dribbled away while he stood over son's corpse.

But, the spark of life was still in her. He ran a hand over her head. There was a concussion. Perhaps -probably - not life threatening, though head injuries were always tricky. But, it was healed, now, along with bruises and a fracture in her arm where she'd been thrown against the wall.

He turned his attention to the two witches dueling across his kitchen had making merry havoc of the place. The lights had been smashed (despite his human appearance in this world, he didn't need light to see. He hadn't even noticed when they broke them). Furniture was scattered and broken.

Miss Rosa seemed to have made a good accounting of herself, but she was retreating. There were burns along her face where she hadn't been able to hold off Regina's flames.

Regina would probably kill her in another minute or two, he thought dispassionately.

He stood up, the blood covered dagger gripped tight.

"Regina," his voice was barely a whisper.

But, Regina froze mid spell.

"Regina, turn and face me."

X

Siri ducked and rolled under the kitchen table before a fireball could hit her while trying to push out more shadows to protect herself.

Fire versus shadow, like you needed a Ph.D. to know how this would end.

But, Regina was into direct attacks – remarkably direct attacks, something Siri had learned to avoid ages ago.

_Amateur, _Siri thought. _Too used to people who don't stand a chance against her. No tactics or planning at all. Probably thinks she can just crush anybody who gets in her way._

As another fireball came hurtling at Siri, she thought Mayor Mills might have a point.

But, Siri threw the table between her and the fireball. It was good, solid material – one of the heavy woods, not something that would just catch fire and go up like a candle. Oh, it was burning. But, it was still in one piece.

Or it was when Siri grabbed it with her vines and sent the whole, flaming mess right at Regina's face, catching the follow up fireball the witch threw at her. More importantly, it kept her attention while Siri sent some vines—small and spider thin—at the lights above. Regina didn't even notice them till the shattered bulbs came raining down on her.

Regina cursed (very unbecoming, Siri thought, royalty was all about style) and conjured more fire, a big ball to throw at Siri (who had already dodged behind the counter) and a smaller ball to see by.

Which was why she saw the big ball of vines Siri had pushed over by one of the chairs (it _hurt_, she didn't have the energy to be pushing something that far) and not the smaller tendril that came rushing at Regina's feet.

Bracing herself—she was going to lose a _lot _of her remaining shadows if this didn't work—Siri looped the vines around Regina's ankles and _yanked._ The fireball crashed into what was left of the kitchen sink. The witch went down, and Siri grabbed her remaining vines and sent them hurtling at the witch. If she could get her wrapped tight before her majesty conjured anymore fire, Siri could count this as a win.

Instead, as white flames crashed into her, Siri realized it looked like a loss.

X

Regina turned, disbelieving.

"You're dead."

Her old mentor's face broke into something more like a death rictus than a smile. "No, dearie, you are." He reached out to the smoke coming off the burning remains of the kitchen table. The black cloud coiled around his hand like a snake. Then, the threw it at her.

Regina threw fire at it. But, the flames touched the coiled darkness and were swallowed up. Then, the smoke hit her hard in the chest. She staggered back as it wrapped itself around her, pinning her arms to her side.

"Smoke, Regina," Rumplestiltskin said in the weary, lecturing voice he had sometimes used when it had taken her far too long to grasp something he considered obvious. "It's made from fire. It's still there when the fire has burnt itself out. You can't burn away smoke."

He held up his knife in front of her. It was still wet with blood. "You wanted this, didn't you, Regina? I'm sorry. I think you'll have to settle for a different blade."

There was a boy lying on the floor, though Regina didn't know where he had come from. He wore an oversized, blood drenched, Boston Red Sox sweatshirt. Rumplestilskin pulled something out of the boy's hand that had been hidden in the overlarge sleeve.

Another dagger.

This one was long and silver. It seemed strangely liquid, she thought, almost as if it were made of mercury instead of some more solid metal. "Miss Rosa—you are Miss Rosa, I presume?" Rumplestiltskin said. Regina realized he was talking to the little witch she'd been fighting.

"Sirena Rosa," the girl said, voice ragged and tired. "Pleased to meet you."

Rumplestiltskin nodded. "Likewise. I take it this is your brother's blade? One he made himself? I trust he won't mind if I use it. He did say he owed me a favor."

He walked towards Regina, limping again as he came, a blade in either hand till he was barely a fingers width away from her. He held the second knife up to her throat. "Do you know anything about Goblin blades, Regina?" he asked, voice weary and almost bored. "Blood plays an interesting part in their creation. Rather ironic, when you think about it. And useful."

With that, he plunged the blade into Regina's heart.

X

Rumplestiltskin heard a voice cry out behind him. Belle, he thought. But, now wasn't the time to explain to her.

Instead, he watched Regina's eyes, saw them widen in pain and surprise. The blade would be ice cold inside her, he thought.

_Good._

He would like to burn her with cold, throw her into some hell where ice would devour her forever—assuming there was any ice anywhere that wouldn't freeze itself on the cold poison that passed itself off as Regina's soul.

Twisting the blade, he pulled it out.

Regina gasped, hunching over. Oh, yes, this would hurt—hurt like death.

But, only for a moment.

He held Mr. Rosa's dagger in front of her, now covered with the witch's blood. "Look at this, Regina." She whimpered, head still bowed, no doubt wrapped up in her own, insignificant pain. He grabbed her hair and yanked it, forcing her head up. "_Look at it. _Do you see this blood? _Your_ blood?"

She wasn't up to forming words but she managed a brief, terrified nod.

"Good." He moved the blood slightly, and her blood vanished, sucked inside the knife. "You're dead, Regina. This blade has killed you. It's drunk you're blood. It holds your death." He tucked his own dagger inside his vest and traced a certain mark on the Goblin blade with his finger. For a moment, a black, spider web-like pattern appeared, then vanished, also sucked up into the knife. "All I have to do is will it, and it will take that death. You will drop dead wherever you are. I don't need to touch this blade or hold it. You can break it into a thousand pieces, it won't matter. It's _already killed you._" He traced another pattern. He saw her eyes widen in understanding.

Good. He hadn't made Regina his apprentice for her intelligence, after all—quite the opposite—but it was good to know she hadn't been completely hopeless. "And that is my gift to the Rosas. Whoever holds this dagger, in a world with magic or without it, will also be able to invoke your death.

"Oh, and one more thing." He held the blade at a slightly downward angle, as if he were about to drive it through her stomach (the traditional suicide of Japan, he remembered, had involved spilling out one's intestines while still alive. Death, if you didn't have a friend standing by to behead you, could take hours—agonizing hours. But, he had made a promise to Belle).

He had left one drop of Regina's blood on the dagger instead of letting it drink it in.

The sparkling, garnet red drop ran down to the tip of the knife, then, dropped off to the floor. It pooled there for a second, then sank into the wood (and, though Regina couldn't see it, went down to the floor below, then into the ground).

"Storybrooke has also tasted your death," Rumplestiltskin said. "If you are still here when the sun rises, you will die." He uncurled the smoke from around her, dissipating it into the night. "Now, get out of my house."

X

As a fellow professional, Siri felt like giving out a cheer.

Oh, it was vicious and cruel, but you really had to appreciate that kind of revenge.

And she would have cheered—if she hadn't thought Rumplestiltskin would add her to the local body count list if she did.

She got up slowly, but all of her bones seemed to be in more or less the right place and the right number of pieces. She looked at Bae lying on the floor. "I—I'm sorry. We tried . . . ."

_I stood between him and that wraith. I fought off attacking Goblins and bled all over the Gloaming. I left my brother lying outside, dying, while I came here to rescue you—all of you—_

She looked at his devastated, empty face and knew now wasn't the time to say any of that.

Rumplestiltskin gave the absent nod of someone who wasn't listening. He handed the blade to her, hilt first. "Here, you might want to give this to your brother."

Siri took it. "Thanks, I—" she stumbled, trying to think what to say, when she felt something through the blade. Her head jerked and she looked to the side where a body was lying in a heap by the kitchen door. "Tom! How—"

Rumplestiltskin followed her gaze and saw her brother collapsed by the doorway. He frowned. Then, his hand began to glow with a purple light.

_Please,_ Siri thought, _let that not be a _bad_ thing._

The blood vanished from Tom's shirt, and Siri realized he was still breathing. Color began to come back into his face as well, though his eyes stayed closed.

"Let him rest," Rumplestiltskin said. "He's probably earned it."

"Wait," Siri said. "Wait, if Tom's here—"

This took more than just Goblin-witch sight. Or it did when she could barely stand herself. She mustered up one more, tiny vine. It trembled slightly and, as she stabilized it, uncurled shadowy leaves and a very small bud. She knelt down by Bae and let the black vine wrap around his finger (the ring finger of the left hand, which witches said had a vein running directly to the heart, because it seemed like a good choice right then).

"He's alive," she whispered.

"What?"

Siri wasn't sure if Rumplestiltskin sounded angry, shocked, or disbelieving. Probably all three.

She found herself laughing. Which was funny, since she could feel tears on her face. "He's alive. My stupid brother, he did it. The Goblin's spell. For taking the dead from battle, holding the last spark of life. _He did it_." She frowned. "I just have no idea how to undo it . . . ."

But, Rumplestiltskin was already shoving her aside (adding slightly to her collection of bruises, but Siri couldn't really blame him). His hands glowed with purple light.

"Bae? _Bae!?_"

_If this goes wrong—or if I just made a mistake—I wonder what he'll do to me? _Siri thought.

She wondered how many deaths Tom's dagger could hold.

Bae's eyes fluttered, then, opened.

"Papa?"

X

"And that is how I spent my summer vacation," Siri said as she and Tom drove out of town. The car was a rental—she'd been surprised at first that a town no one could leave had rental cars but, after all, they had to have some kind of backup when their cars broke down, too.

"Weekend," Tom said. "How you spent your weekend."

"Feels longer. You realize there's even a chance I'll make it back in time for work?"

"Is work all you ever think about?"

"Somebody has to. The stock market doesn't just run itself, you know."

"Really? Because, I've seen all the Terminator movies, and I was pretty sure it did."

"The stock market doesn't have robots."

"My mistake. Because, then it would be run by soulless monsters out to destroy humanity—oh, wait."

"Ha. Ha. Speaking of soulless monsters, why didn't we get a little rest before getting out of Dodge? Are you sure you can even stay awake long enough to get us out of town?"

"Oh, you mean you haven't guessed the _obvious?_ Sure you're really as smart as you say you are, sis?"

"What obvious is it, this time? That boys have some rule about ignoring sleep deprivation and common sense? Because, I've already clued in on that one."

"Poor, simple-minded sis. Right now, Regina Mills is stuffing whatever she can't leave behind in her suitcases. I give it 50-50 odds we see her headlights behind us before we reach the border."

"Again, so?"

"_So_, sis, you're the one who said she was glad Gold let the witch-queen live, murder being such a mess to clean up."

"And unethical. And likely to come back to bite you in a court of law. And I don't want to spend twenty to life in a cell with a roommate who probably has bad morning breath. So?"

"So? Siri, who's sitting by the only road out of town waiting for us?"

"Oh. Right." She thought it over a minute. "Silver said Auntie A told her to lay off Regina, but," she added reluctantly, "that was partly out of respect for Storybrooke as Gold's hunting grounds. She probably _should_ still leave her alone if she runs into her . . . ."

"You expect Silver to be reasonable if Regina walks right into her arms? Or Auntie A to hold it against her if she does? And Mehitabel doesn't owe Auntie A anything."

Siri sighed, acknowledging the point. "And she'd probably decide collecting the skull of the woman who went after the captain's grandson would be a good thing. At least she doesn't make them into goblets anymore. Or, not often. I always thought that was gross."

"It's an ethnic thing. Her dad was a Celtic chieftain when the Romans were still tossing people in the coliseum for weekend entertainment. The point is we don't want her adding to the table settings."

"Right. Well, what do you think we should do with your dagger now that Rumplestiltskin was nice enough to make it ten times as creepy? Put it in a safe deposit box? Toss it in the sea?"

"I was thinking of giving it to Uncle Lucian."

"OK, you have just lost all the IQ points I thought you gained when you remembered Silver and Mehitabel before I did. Are you crazy?"

"He's not that bad."

Siri blew a raspberry.

"Hey, you know he's not. And Aunt Stella keeps an eye on him."

"Yeah, but—"

Just then, Tom's cell rang (they'd picked up—well, stolen back, because who wants to answer awkward questions?—Tom's phone at the hospital along with his other things). Since he was driving, he tossed it to Siri, who rolled her eyes at the delegation but still answered it.

"You have reached the phone of Thomas Rosa. This is Sirena Rosa speaking. How may I direct your call?

There was a pause while she listened.

"Uh-huh?" She said after a bit.

"What? Yeah, of course, but—

"Well, sure, but—

"No, no, of course not. But, shouldn't you—

"I thought that was paid off when—

"Oh. Yeah. I see what you mean. OK, I'll tell him.

"Give us a bit to figure out the details. We'll call back in half –no, better make that a whole hour. We've got to stop a beheading at the border. My stepgrandmother's there.

"Right. OK. Goodbye." She hung up.

"That was Rumplestiltskin. He pointed out we owe him a favor."

"What? We just saved his son's life! And his! Besides, he said the debt was paid."

"The debt when he saved you and Silver. Healing you after Regina's spell draining, that's a new one. So was hauling her off me before I got burnt to a crisp. But, I this is mostly just for squaring things with us and the sheriff, what with the vehicle theft, assault charges, and all that."

Tom groaned. "Great, another accountant. You've found your soulmate, Siri."

"Wash your mouth out with soap. Although I don't know if they can prove anything. I wiped our fingerprints off the motorcycle and checked the helmets for hair. Whether it's DNA tests or magic, you don't want to leave that stuff lying around. Still, he has a point."

"So, what does he want?"

"Well, it seems Rumplestiltskin told the sheriff that, even if the Gloaming is the only other world we can trot to _directly_, we _might_ be able to trot to some others by more _indirect_ routes. We've been requested to go to their world. It seems the current sheriff's wife and daughter are lost there. He'd like us to get them back."

"Oh. Great. Anything else."

"Yeah. Have a nice trip."

"What? Siri!"

"Don't 'Siri' me. Job. On Monday. Anyhow, you'll have to go to Auntie A's for directions. She knows where their world is."

"She does? How did that happen?"

Siri shrugged. "She met Rumplestiltskin. Seems to like him. I think he must be a lot creepier than we realized."

"You said he's creepier than that undead guy from London."

"He was infected and possessed, not undead. And that still leaves a lot of room for creepiness. And understatement. Anyhow, once you reach Auntie A's, you can pick up some backup. Just make sure it doesn't eat you. And don't say it."

"Say what?"

"'I hate my life.' You don't. You live for this stuff."

"So do you."

"Only when it doesn't interfere with important things. Like accounting.

"Anyhow, I like normal. There's not enough of it to go around."


End file.
